I Left the Ninety Nine
by Kleinchen
Summary: After a Pon Farr gone wrong, Spock flees the Enterprise in guilt and shame, leaving behind a hurt and confused Jim Kirk to pick up the pieces of what used to be his life. K/S pre-slash. Warning: non-graphic rape, lots of angst. COMPLETE!
1. Confession

**A/N**: Hello all, Kleinchen here! This is my first Trek fic, so I am very pleased to be presenting this to you. n-n **Please note that this story is already complete**, and as such, although I enjoy and value critiques, any advice you give is unlikely to be incorporated into later chapters, because all 20 chapters are already completed.

**Warnings: **This story contains (non-graphic) rape and a lot of angst, K/S pre-slash.

Comments and critiques are more than welcome! I am always striving to be a better writer. :]

And that's about it! I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I've enjoyed writing it. :]

* * *

Chapter One: Confession

For Jim Kirk, it started off as a normal morning aboard the _Enterprise_. He had awoken at his usual time, eaten his usual breakfast, and he now leaned against the white plastiglass of the command chair, cool to the touch, with one booted foot resting jauntily atop the other thigh. He looked how he often did when he first sat down for Alpha Shift – as though he had just conquered the world, surveying his kingdom, the bridge, with his trademark confident, charismatic grin.

He joked around with the crew, who laughed at him as per usual. He checked with Uhura to see if there were any updates on their current mission – to travel to Starbase 49 for some routine scheduled maintenance and speak with some Starfleet dignitaries about about something or other. There were no updates – then he checked with Scotty to ensure the engines were working smoothly, which they were. Everything was running normally and Jim relaxed in his seat.

As the morning wore on, however, something seemed amiss as he surveyed the bridge. He wasn't quite sure – but something felt different, unusual – wrong, sort of. He frowned slightly and scanned the area, seeking whatever it was that was causing his uneasiness – and he spotted it.

Usually Spock stood over the science panel with a strong and stoic stillness, like a marble statue from ancient Terran history. Today, however, his foot was tapping against the clean white floor, in time with his long bony fingers strumming against the equally white shelving unit that held up his controls. He was restless, uneasy – anxious, even – and his discomfort was painfully obvious now that Jim had spotted it.

"Everything okay over there, Mr. Spock?" he asked. He had spoken in a normal speaking voice, but Spock jolted at the sound as if he had shouted, which only worried Jim further. Something was not right.

Spock took in a deep breath as he turned to look at the captain, the other bridge members eying him with guarded curiosity.

"Yes, sir," he responded faintly, "Everything is showing as normal in my vicinity."

Jim sighed inwardly; he was not surprised by Spock's response to his poorly-worded question.

"Are you feeling alright? You look a bit sick," he said. Spock's gaze darted away and he responded with some hesitation,

"I am feeling rather unwell."

"Do you need to take a day off?" Jim asked with a frown – he could not think of any instance when Spock had fallen ill. The Vulcan, however, shook his head curtly and looked back to his controls.

"That would be unnecessary," he said in a clipped tone, "I can work sufficiently in my present condition."

Jim didn't buy a word of it, but he conceded with a simple "all right then," and swept his gaze around the bridge once more, the nosy crewmen dropping their eyes hastily back to their stations as he did so, as if he had verbally reprimanded them. And for the rest of the day he found himself unable to concentrate, his mind being rather preoccupied with thoughts of Spock's peculiar behavior and apparent illness.

* * *

"Got a minute, Bones?" Jim asked, poking his head into McCoy's office a little over an hour after Alpha Shift was over. He had been keeping an eye on Spock for most of the day, and the older Vulcan's nervous jitters and never subsided and Jim found himself increasingly concerned.

McCoy was seated at his desk, leaning over a PADD with one hand supporting his head from beneath his chin. He glanced briefly at Jim and replied,

"Gimme a second to finish this up, kid."

"Sure thing," Jim replied, and he sat in one of the several empty chairs scattered about the room. McCoy tapped away at the PADD for a few moments longer, then set it in a pile on the other side of his desk.

"I think it's safe to assume this isn't about the Andorian flu vaccination you were _supposed_ to have six weeks ago," he said dryly, leaning back in his chair. Jim chuckled and shook his head, knowing that Bones knew full well he would rather come down with the full-blown Andorian flu then get a hypo stuck in his neck. "So let's hear it, kid. What d'ya need?"

"Well, uh," he began, feeling suddenly unsure of himself, "It's, uh, about Spock." McCoy wrinkled his nose with a faint sneer and retorted,

"If it's something about Vulcan anatomy or some other question I would be better off never hearing from you –"

"No, no, it's not like that," Jim replied quickly, laughing nervously, "Really, Bones, I swear it's not. I'm worried about him, I think he's getting sick." At that, McCoy raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"What's wrong with him?" he asked with a sigh, reaching for another PADD.

"He just seemed really – I don't know – nervous, I guess? All day. He was tapping his feet from the beginning of Alpha Shift, and his fingers too, and he kept at it all day. And he practically jumped when I asked him if he was alright." He frowned. "Dammit, Bones, stop looking at me like that!"

McCoy's expression had grown more and more incredulous with every word that came from Jim's mouth, and his eyebrows had long since disappeared under his dark brown bangs. He looked away slowly, eyebrows relaxing but his lips tightening in mild disbelief, and he began pulling things up on the PADD.

"And what did he say when you asked him abut it?" he asked dryly. Jim suppressed a frown at the doctor's barely-contained skepticism, and he replied curtly,

"He said he wasn't feeling well but turned me down when I suggested he take a day off."

"That's not surprising, considering the green-blooded idiot's never taken a sick day in the history of his entire Starfleet career," McCoy muttered, the PADD clicking as he typed. "So he's showing signs of anxiety and restlessness..." He skimmed through the information the PADD spewed up for a few moments longer, then set it down with a sigh.

"I dunno what to tell you, Jim," he said, "There's very few contagious diseases Vulcans are susceptible to anymore, and anxiety and the jitters ain't symptoms to any of 'em."

"Then what do you think it could be?" Jim asked with a perplexed frown. McCoy shrugged.

"If it were a human I'd say maybe he's just gettin' antsy – cabin fever, y'know? Been cooped up in space too long. But this ain't a human we're dealin' with, so I can't give you a good answer." Jim sighed, leaning back in his chair in resignation.

"Well, thanks anyways, Bones," he said and began to rise. McCoy seemed to hesitate for a moment, then as the younger man stepped towards the door he snapped,

"Hold on, Jim. Just 'cause I can't figure out what the hell's up with the hobgoblin doesn't mean you can't figure it out. Maybe he was just having a bad day. But if it's still happenin' tomorrow then ask him about it again. You're the closest thing to a friend he's got ever since him and Uhura called things off. If you pester him enough he'll spill." Jim chuckled.

"Well, then I'll keep an eye on him," he replied with a faint grin.

"And, Jim," he added quickly, scowling, "If he gets worse, let me know pronto. All those hobgoblins on New Vulcan are butthurt enough about Spock choosing Starfleet over them, and if he comes down with some freakish Vulcan sickness and dies on my watch there'll be hell to pay. So you better keep a damn good eye on him."

"Will do, Bones," Jim replied, suppressing a laugh as he strode out the door.

* * *

Spock's hands were shaking as he pressed his fingertip to the door's fingerprint scanner. He stumbled into his quarters the moment it granted him access and hastily closed it behind him. For a long moment he stood there, trembling and staring at nothing as his mind raced, desperate for an answer that was not the one he had deduced. _This cannot be happening_, he screamed at himself, _this is impossible, there must be some other reason behind it..._

He pulled out his meditation mat, pointedly ignoring the uncharacteristic clumsiness with which his fumbling hands handled the task. He sat upon it the moment it rolled out onto the floor and closed his eyes. Meditation would help – he needed to meditate, and surely then this would pass.

He sat there for twenty-seven minutes and sixteen seconds, and for that entire time he was painfully aware of nothing but the pounding of the blood in his veins, the blood he could feel carrying copious amounts of adrenalin to the rest of his body. His mind told his adrenal glands to cease immediately, shouted at his endocrine system to _stop this foolishness_, but his once-obedient body paid his demands no heed.

Mediation was useless.

He stood up quickly and stumbled to his commlink unit, punching in the number he needed without thought. It puttered for a moment before the screen flashed to life.

His father greeted him with a quizzical eyebrow, presumably about his disheveled and restless appearance.

"What ails you, Spock?" he asked without preamble. Spock felt a brief moment of gratitude for his father's astute ability of getting straight to the point – he was uncertain he would be able to handle going through any formalities at the moment.

"Father," he said, his eyes darting restlessly about his quarters, "Forgive the abrupt quality of this call –"

"Think nothing of it," Sarek interrupted, tilting his head down ever so slightly, the Vulcan equivalent of waving a matter away. "Speak your mind, son."

"I am 99.7 percent sure I have entered the moderate stages of Pon Farr," he replied, inwardly recoiling as he forced the foul words out of his mouth, "However, this is a worrisome matter, as it seems I have entered this stage at a rate nearly double the normal speed of the blood fever."

Sarek stared stonily at him, his expression unchanging in spite of the horribly taboo nature of the topic Spock had hurled at him. He remained silent for fourteen seconds, then began to speak.

"This is... not unheard of," he said slowly, "Since the destruction of Vulcan there have been cases of individuals going into Pon Farr as much as four years before scheduled, at a rapidly accelerated rate."

"Why?" Spock breathed, his heart hammering in his abdomen.

"Most doctors believe it is due to the mass genocide our kind has suffered," Sarek continued, "Our bodies have sense the sudden loss of fellow _katras_, and are responding by attempting to dramatically increase the rate of reproduction."

"I cannot deal with this here," Spock interjected, brows furrowing, "I am at a loss as how to handle – how to –" He snapped his mouth shut, closing his eyes in an attempt to regain the control he felt slipping away from him.

"Request an emergency leave," Sarek replied quickly, "Come to New Vulcan. There are facilities already set up to assist those like yourself. Surely the _Enterprise_ can get close enough to beam you to New Vulcan without any significant detrimental effects."

"We are currently en route to Starbase 49, which is in the opposite direction of New Vulcan. Our scheduled rendezvous is in seven days. There will not be time."

"Make the request, Spock," Sarek replied insistently. They stared at each other for a moment, hints of frustration on both sets of stern features, until finally Sarek spoke again.

"And you are certain there is no one aboard suitable to – meet your needs? Your survival outweighs the secrecy our race keeps around the blood fever, Spock."

"There are only two individuals aboard the _Enterprise_ with whom I am able to meld with at a sufficient level," Spock murmured, looking away. "One is female and would surely be severely injured."

"And the second?"

Spock was silent for a moment, images of soft blond hair and electric blue eyes flashing in his thoughts, then said in a steely-soft voice,

"I would rather suffer the slow death of Pon Farr than bring any harm to the second individual."

"Illogical," Sarek sighed, "But if that is how it is, then you must somehow arrange transport to New Vulcan. How long do you estimate you have?"

"At the rate of progression I am experiencing, I doubt I will be lucid after three day's time. My heart will burst in four to five days."

"Do whatever it takes, Spock," Sarek said sternly, "I will not allow petty Starfleet formalities or our race's desire for secrecy to cause your demise." Spock nodded slowly, and Sarek leaned back while letting out a long breath.

"I will arrange for a room to be prepared for you at my home," he continued, "I will be expecting you in a few days."

"Yes," was all he could bring himself to utter.

"Forgive my abruptness, but I must go," Sarek said, glancing away, presumably at a clock – it was mid-morning on New Vulcan. "Do everything you can, my son. Live long and prosper."

"Live long and prosper," Spock murmured, and the commlink flashed off.

He stepped back and sat down weakly on his bed, his entire body shaking uncontrollably and his breath coming in short, heavy gasps.

He felt illogically and irreconcilably certain he was going to die.

* * *

**A/N:** Thanks for reading! Chapter two will be up in a few days.


	2. Nothing and Everything

**A/N:** Omg you guys! I am absolutely overwhelmed by the sheer number of people who have not only reviewed but also added this to their story alerts/etc. This warm of a welcome was very unexpected, but I am **very thankful**! :] For people who reviewed, I replied personally to your reviews, but thanks again!

I forgot to mention something in the first chapter.** All of the chapter titles are based on** either other **music, poems,** or other **pieces of literature**. Listening to/reading the pieces the chapter titles are inspired by is not necessary to enjoy the story, but I would recommend it. This chapter's title is taken from a song _"Nothing and Everything"_ by a band called **Red.** Youtube them, they're wonderful! :]

I also thought I should mention that an understanding of military time is probably necessary to fully understand a lot of what is going on. It's pretty simple, so if you don't know, a quick way to remember is that all A.M. times are below twelve, and P.M. times are that number plus twelve (ie, 3 P.M. would be 1500 hours - 12 +3 = 15).

I am thinking I will update **every other day**. That sounds reasonable to me, but what do you think? Let me know! :]

As always, comments and critiques are welcome! Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy chapter two!

* * *

Chapter Two: Nothing and Everything

Spock did not sleep that night. He attempted to meditate, but to little avail – it was near impossible to focus enough to empty his mind into the quiet solace that was meditation. He thought while trying to meditate, but every train of thought led to the same hopeless conclusion.

His quarters were connected to Jim's by a shared bathroom. When he heard the water shower rumble on, two minutes and seven seconds after 0600, he rose from his meditation mat, quickly changed clothes and tidied his tousled hair, then stood by the bathroom door and waited.

He listened as Jim showered for seventeen minutes and twelve seconds, listened to the slap of bare feet on cold tile, listened to the rustling of cloth against skin.

He pointedly ignored the aching lust coursing through his flesh; a sign of the advanced stages of Pon Farr. He had little time left. He knew it, and it terrified him.

He counted twenty seconds after hearing Jim's door click shut, then stepped into the bathroom and turned on the sink. He scrubbed his face with the coldest water he could stand while he listened to the distinct sounds of Jim pulling on his uniform. When he heard the young captain sit down on what sounded like his bed and fumble with what sounded like his Starfleet regulation boots, Spock stepped over to the door to Jim's quarters, took as steady of a breath as he could manage, then rapped his knuckles against the white plastiglass door. He heard Jim take in a sharp breath at the unexpected sound, then call,

"Come in, Spock." He pushed the door open and took a step into Jim's quarters.

The room was unorganized, messy, and distinctly human. A white tee shirt and a pair of blue plaid pajama pants lay rumpled on the floor – he could smell the faint tangy odor of sweat emanating from them. Jim was sitting on the edge of his bed with a mess of sheets behind him, pulling on his boots.

"Captain," Spock said, forcing himself to focus, "I must speak with you."

"I'm listening," he replied with a faint grin, sitting up straight with both boots now properly on his feet, the hems of his pants tucked messily into the black leather. Spock took in a barely-steady breath, then said quickly,

"Captain, I must request an immediate emergency leave to New Vulcan." Jim's eyebrows darted up in surprise – whatever he had been expecting to hear from the Vulcan, this was not it.

"Why, Spock? What's going on?" he asked worriedly, "Is it a family thing? Is your father –?"

"It is not a family matter, nor does it concern my father," Spock snapped in irritation before he could stop himself – Jim's eyes bulged in shock – then he paused and continued in a forcedly even tone, "It is a... personal issue." Jim stared at him a moment, brows furrowed and lips pressed together tightly until finally he asked,

"Can you at least tell me what's going on?"

"I would rather not," Spock said faintly, looking away.

"Does it have something to do with your... behavior, yesterday?"

"...Yes," he replied simply, still unable to meet the other man's bright blue gaze. Jim remained silent for another moment, then slowly stood and stepped over to the intercom.

"Engineering, this is the Captain," he said slowly into it, "Is Mr. Scott there?"

"Scott here, Cap'n," came the unmistakeable drawl of the chief engineer.

"Scotty, how late would we be for our rendezvous at Starbase 49 if we were to travel back within beaming range of New Vulcan?" he asked steadily, his eyes never leaving Spock's features. A sputtering noise came from the intercom and Scotty replied incredulously,

"Well at the best it'd be a day and a half to get there and a day and a half to get back to this point, so we'd be a good three days late, Cap'n, and that's assuming the best!" He snorted audibly. "If'n you ask me, whatever you gotta get to New Vulcan for, it better wait if'n you don't wanna get beaten to a pulp by the 'fleet higher-ups crawlin' around 'base 49."

Spock's heart hammered against his abdomen and he closed his eyes, panic tugging insistently at his control. He had known this would be the case, but the confirmation of it suddenly filled him with terror. He heard Jim sigh and shift his feet, and he forced his eyes back open.

"Thank you, Scotty, that will be all," Jim said, and he stepped away from his desk towards Spock, who had not moved from the bathroom doorway.

"I'm sorry, Spock."

He could not find the strength to reply.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" Jim asked, "Are you sick?"

"In a sense," he murmured.

"Can Bones help?" the captain continued, taking another step closer to the Vulcan, "Please, Spock, let us help you."

"It is not something that can be fixed by Dr. McCoy," he replied stiffly. Jim looked at him, a pleading look in his eyes, but Spock kept his gaze affixed to the floor.

"Do you need to take the day off?" he asked finally. Spock slowly shook his head.

"I am fit for duty," he replied, turning to go, "I will see you shortly on the bridge." He stepped hurriedly back through the bathroom, to the safety of his own quarters. Jim stared at the closed door for a long few moments after the Vulcan had left, a worried frown plastered on his features.

Spock had been trembling like a sick tribble through their entire conversation.

He was very worried.

* * *

"He's getting worse, Bones," Jim exclaimed the moment the door to McCoy's office slid shut behind him. The doctor glanced up at him sharply, frowning.

"Jesus, man, I haven't even had dinner yet," he groaned, pushing himself out of his chair, "So the hobgoblin's worse?"

"He asked for an immediate emergency leave to New Vulcan," he explained hastily, "But we couldn't – jesus, Bones, I want to help him, but there's no _way _we'll be able to make it work, getting to New Vulcan will make us so damn late to Starbase 49, we'll get demoted or something." McCoy sighed.

"What are his symptoms?" he asked.

"He's shaking worse today. And he raised his voice a couple of times on the bridge."

"That's a shock," the doctor replied dryly, pacing about the room, "You're gonna have to get him to come in here, Jim. I can't help him if I can't see him."

"I dunno if I can get him to come, Bones," Jim replied with more than a hint of frustration, "I talked to him about it this morning and he said you couldn't help him." McCoy snorted indignantly.

"Ain't nothin' one of my hypos can't fix," he retorted irritably, then sighed. "Well, I can't even try to help him if he won't let me see him. You're gonna have to find some way to get him down here, Jim." The younger man sighed, scrubbing a hand wearily through his messy hair.

"All right," he replied, "I'll see what I can do."

"Order him if you have to," McCoy added as Jim stepped out the door.

"Yeah, yeah," came the reply, and then he was gone.

* * *

Spock was a mess.

He had once again stumbled into his quarters at the end of Alpha Shift, and had promptly collapsed into the chair sitting in front of his impeccably tidy desk. He sat there panting for three minutes and forty-two seconds, his entire body feeling as though he were about to burst into flame, which was entirely illogical – his body temperature was approximately seven degrees Fahrenheit above normal, which was, although worrisome, nowhere near hot enough to combust – but this did not stop him from feeling like it.

His mind was in a haze, clouded over with heat and lust. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, propped his elbows on the desk, and held his head in his hands.

It finally occurred to him that he should contact his father again, but he could not muster the strength to rise. He would just sit awhile longer – some rest would do him some good.

He did not know how long he sat there. He felt as though that should worry him, but he was too exhausted to care.

He could faintly hear the door to the bathroom being opened and Jim's voice softly calling out, as if in a dream,

"Spock?"

Jim hovered in the doorway, unsure of what to do. Spock was slumped over his desk with his head in his hands, his entire body shaking as if he were in the midst of an earthquake. He did not respond to Jim's voice.

He needed to get Spock down to Sickbay. But if Spock was asleep, as he appeared to be, he didn't want to wake him up – he figured sleep was just as helpful for sick Vulcans as it was for sick humans.

He stood there for a moment longer, watching Spock tremble with each heavy intake of breath.

But he had a better idea. Jim closed the door quietly and hurried through the bathroom back to his quarters. If he couldn't get Spock to Sickbay, then dammit, he would drag Bones down to Spock. He leaned down close to his intercom, remembering the sensitive Vulcan hearing Spock would so often brag about, and spoke softly into it,

"Sickbay, this is Captain Kirk. Is McCoy there?"

"McCoy here," came the exasperated reply.

"Bones, do you think you could come down here?" Jim asked, barely above a whisper, "I think Spock is asleep and you'd probably have better luck trying to take a look at him now than trying to get him to sit still in Sickbay long enough." The doctor sighed audibly.

"I'll be down in a minute," he grumbled.

"Come to my quarters, the door's unlocked," Jim said, "Don't forget your tricorder." McCoy snorted.

"Don't forget your phaser," he snapped back, sarcasm dripping from his voice. "McCoy out." Jim straightened back up slowly.

He still had no idea what the hell was wrong with Spock, and it irritated him to no end. He was the captain, he was supposed to be in charge – he was supposed to know what was going on, dammit! But the moment his friend – probably his best friend – had something wrong with him, he put up those same damn Vulcan walls and Jim was helpless. And if there was one thing Jim hated, it was the feeling of being helpless, of not being in control. As such, he hated the ocean and really any large body of water – hated that when he tried to swim, the crashing waves and rushing currents held him captive, completely at the mercy of the flow of the stifling water. He'd rather have the pool down in the _Enterprise_'s fitness center any day. At least in a pool he was in control of what direction he was swimming in.

But trying to find what was wrong with Spock was like being thrown in the ocean, and on a foggy day at that. The Vulcan's damn stubborn silence made him want to punch a wall.

The door clicked faintly as it opened, breaking him out of his reverie, and he turned to face a grim-looking McCoy, tricorder in hand.

"Quiet," Jim said simply, stepping toward the bathroom door and beckoning with one hand for McCoy to follow.

They stepped through the bathroom and slowly, slowly, Jim opened the door to Spock's quarters. He slipped into the room first – Spock was sitting in the same position he had been in before, and Jim motioned for McCoy to enter. The doctor stepped into the room and immediately headed towards the Vulcan. He stood a safe distance away while setting up his tricorder, Jim hovering near him. Spock only continued his trembling as McCoy held out the tricorder and moved it around, first circling Spock's head, across both shoulders, down his spine and back up, hovering around his abdomen and chest for a moment before pulling it back.

Suddenly the tricorder let out a faint peep, and then everything fell to pieces.

"Shit," McCoy hissed as he clapped a hand over the machine, at the same moment that Spock jolted straight up in his seat. Their eyes locked for an instant, then Spock's features twisted in rage and in one fluid motion he leaped to his feet and shoved McCoy away into the wall.

"How did you get in here?" he nearly shouted as Jim jumped to the doctor's side. McCoy groaned, rolling away from the furious Vulcan.

"Spock!" Jim shouted as he took a step towards them, "Stop, _now_!" Spock halted, staring at him in consternation, then flung out an arm and gestured towards the door.

"Out," he hissed simply, and the two scrambled for the door to the hallway.

Once they were down the hall and approaching the turbolift, McCoy stopped and bent over, wheezing slightly.

"Shit, Jim, I'm sorry," he said bitterly, "Forgot to put the damn thing on silent."

"It's fine," Jim sighed, "You alright, Bones?"

"Green-blooded son-of-a-bitch nearly broke my ribcage," he grumbled, "But I'll live. Let's just get back to Sickbay and figure out what the hell's wrong with the damn goblin." They continued into the turbolift.

"Sickbay," McCoy said firmly just as Jim was opening his mouth. They frowned at each other good-naturedly, then Jim chuckled and McCoy rolled his eyes.

When they arrived in Sickbay, Nurse Chapel stopped them before they had taken more than a few steps and told McCoy,

"Ensign Scall and Ensign Koe came by while you were gone. They wanted to schedule their yearly physicals. You've got an appointment next week with Scall and the week after with Koe."

"Thanks," McCoy said wryly. "I've got some stuff I gotta take care of. Don't let anyone into my office 'til I'm done." Chapel rolled her eyes.

"Right," she replied, and she sauntered off as they stepped into the doctor's office.

"Damn, Bones," Jim said, barely stifling a laugh, "Is she always like that?"

"It's your fault," McCoy grumbled, "I bet she's pissed I've been off screwing around with you over that crazy hobgoblin."

"Sorry, sorry," he replied, holding his hands up in acquiescence, but with the same insufferable grin plastered to his features.

"Yeah, whatever," McCoy sighed. He placed the tricorder on his desk and sat down, pulling over another PADD presumably with Spock's medical information. "Let's just get this over with."

"Sounds good," Jim sighed, sitting down in a chair in the corner.

McCoy fiddled with the tricorder for a moment, which then hummed mechanically as it regurgitated the information. Jim watched anxiously as the doctor compared the tricorder with the PADD.

The doctor's face grew more and more disbelieving as his eyes darted back and forth until finally his mouth worked silently in an attempt to speak, and Jim's heart plummeted out of his chest to the floor.

"Shit, Jim," McCoy finally managed to utter, "You're not gonna like this."

* * *

Spock watched the two men flee from the room, rage coursing through his body like blood. How dare they come into his room, and that tricorder scan was a gross violation of privacy and he wanted _so badly_ to throw something, so he grabbed the nearest object and he hurled it at the now-closed door with a guttural roar. The sound of glass shattering startled him and, suddenly, the fury was gone. He stumbled to pick up what he had thrown.

It was a holo of his family. He remembered it had been taken one week and three days before he had been accepted into – and promptly declined – the Vulcan Science Academy. It was one of the only family holos he owned, and it was the most recent. In the photo, his mother stood in the middle with his father on the right and himself on the left. His father was expressionless and his mother had a faint, almost imperceptible smile on her features. Spock, however, was no longer visible – where his face and torso had once been was now a mess of broken holo screen covered in multicolored lines.

Spock picked up the picture, heedless of the shards of shattered glass leaving innumerable tiny green cuts along his hands. Carefully he set it back on his desk with an unbearable sadness flooding his senses, then he sat back down and wept.

* * *

**A/N:** I know Spock seems a little out of character this chapter but I figure that Pon Farr brings shame to Vulcans for a reason, because it makes their emotions lash out uncontrollably, in addition to, you know, the obvious parts. So I hope that that comes across clearly.

Next chapter will probably be on Monday. See you then! :]


	3. The Bolder Thing to Do

**A/N: **Hello again! Here we are with chapter three :] Thanks so much again to everyone who has reviewed so far! I still get a little thrill of excitement every time I see a review alert in my inbox. 3

I always seem to forget to mention things I should have mentioned in the first chapter. The **story's title** comes from the song _"Bring You Back"_ by **Paul Alan**. It fits the overall feeling of the fic well, and the title is taken from a line in the chorus. Even if you don't check out anything else I use throughout the story, I **strongly recommend** listening to this song, as it is pretty much the theme song for the fic. n-n;

This chapter title is take from the song _"The Bolder Thing to Do_" by **Gregory and the Hawk**. All their music is incredibly beautiful and I totally recommend YouTube-ing them and listening to them :]

* * *

Chapter Three: The Bolder Thing to Do

Jim was in a dilemma, as per usual.

McCoy's diagnosis was not an optimistic one, and dammit, they _still_ didn't know what was wrong with the Vulcan. He had to talk to Spock – _needed_ to talk to him, dammit – but he did not want to get bodily thrown from the room the way McCoy almost had been. But he couldn't afford to waste any time, if what the doctor said was true.

He sat in his quarters and pondered what he valued more – the condition of his spine or the life of his friend.

But he only had to think about it for a second.

He stood up and walked out of his quarters and three steps down the hallway to Spock's door, hoping that by using the proper door rather than the bathroom, Spock wouldn't get angry at him and would take him seriously.

He took a moment to steel his nerves, then knocked lightly on the door.

"Who is it?" he heard, very faintly, from behind the door. He cleared his throat.

"It's me," he said, "Can I come in? I need to talk to you."

For a moment there was utter silence, then slowly the door slid open. Spock stood there staring stonily at him, then finally took a slight step aside to let Jim in.

"Spock," he said once the Vulcan had shut the door, "You need to tell me what the hell's going on."

"_You_ need to inform _me_ why you believe it was acceptable to allow Dr. McCoy to perform a tricorder scan without my permission," Spock replied icily, all but glaring at a now-terrified Jim.

"Jesus, Spock, we're trying to help you," he said desperately, "I'm not going to tolerate you trying to keep this to yourself anymore, not after Bones' scan."

"And what did the doctor find?" the Vulcan growled.

"That you're going to _die_, Spock," Jim begged, "That if we don't do something you won't make it to the end of the week." For a long moment they stared at each other, Jim breathing heavily and Spock as motionless as he could manage.

"That is... an accurate conclusion," Spock said softly, looking away. His anger seemed to have vanished as suddenly as it had appeared.

"Please, _please_, Spock," Jim continued, "Me and Bones, we were only trying to help. We want to help _so bad_ but we can't if we don't know what's causing this, and I'll be _damned_ if I lose the best science officer in the 'fleet because of some stupid secret Vulcan shit!" They stared at each other a moment, then Jim added softly, "And I don't know what I'd do if I lost my best friend."

It felt peculiar to say it, but he'd be damned if it wasn't the truth. In spite of their more-than-rocky start, he and Spock had quickly come to rely on each other during their time on the _Enterprise_. He felt the same deep kinship towards Spock as he did towards Bones – he supposed the older Spock had been right when he had told Jim what seemed a lifetime ago that they completed each other, could not truly live without each other – and dammit, he didn't want to even _try_ to live without Spock.

Spock's gaze fell to the floor and for a long while he was silent, a somber thoughtfulness on his features. Finally he took in a heavy breath and said, almost inaudible,

"It is a thing of biology."

"Biology?" Jim repeated, still as confused as ever, "Like... a hereditary disease or something? Bones only looked at symptoms of contagious diseases so I guess that would make sense, but – "

"It is not a disease," Spock interjected, looking distinctly uncomfortable. Jim fell silent, but Spock offered no further explanation.

"Can't you just tell me what it is?" he asked finally and Spock winced.

"Please understand," he murmured, his face flushing a pale green, "It is a topic rarely discussed among Vulcans, much less with others."

"I want to help you," Jim whispered. Spock closed his eyes and choked out,

"It is called Pon Farr, the blood fever. It is... similar to when Terran animals go into heat."

Jim's jaw dropped. All this, because – because Spock was horny?

"It generally marks the start of puberty amongst Vulcans," Spock continued hurriedly, as if he could not get the words out fast enough, keeping his gaze steadily on the floor, "It is an occurrence that happens every seven years in which one must – one must mate, or die."

Jim snapped his mouth back closed before Spock could look back at him. So it wasn't just something as simple as being sex-starved, then. He took a moment to process the information, then slowly asked,

"Can't you get someone in the crew to – to help you?"

"No," Spock said sharply, "Vulcans are far stronger than humans, which account for ninety-seven point three percent of the crew, and Pon Farr – it causes complete loss of control – and furthermore it – it must be someone who is – who is mentally compatible..." He trailed off with a shaky intake of breath and said in a near-whisper, "I do not wish to harm anyone."

Slowly Jim sighed, his bright blue eyes darting around the room as if searching for an answer. Spock continued to keep his gaze firmly affixed to the carpet.

Finally, Jim looked at Spock, brows furrowed, and asked very softly, very tentatively,

"We've melded before – and I'm pretty tough – could – could I – ?"

"No!" Spock exclaimed, his body shuddering violently as his wide, panic-stricken eyes darted up to face him, "Jim, if I hurt you – if I – no, Jim. That is an impossibility."

"Sorry," he muttered, looking away as he felt his cheeks redden, "I just – I wish there's something I could _do_, Spock, I don't – I don't want you to die..."

"There is nothing you can do," Spock murmured, recollecting his composure with visible effort.

"I'll figure something out," Jim replied sternly, staring at Spock with a look of sheer determination. "I don't believe in no-win situations, if you remember correctly."

"You can cheat the Kobayashi Maru, Jim, but you cannot cheat death," Spock replied, closing his eyes, "I will not be able to report for duty tomorrow. If you could – contact my father, if I am unable to – to contact him myself."

"You _will_," Jim snapped, "Trust me."

"My odds of surviving this ordeal are less than point two percent," he said in an unsteady monotone.

"And the last time you said that and I told you to trust me, things worked out fine."

"While this is true, it is also incomparable to the situation at hand."

"I'm going to make this work, Spock."

The Vulcan sighed and bowed his head in defeat. He knew he would not be able to convince Jim otherwise.

"So you take tomorrow off, then. And I'll figure something out. Bones said it was all the adrenalin in you – I'm sure there must be some way to get rid of it."

"Please do not make this public knowledge," Spock said suddenly, looking mortified at the thought.

"Of course not. Me'n Bones'll be the only ones who know."

He turned to go and added, "I'm not gonna just let you die, Spock." And with that, he was gone.

Spock sat down slowly, silently, his body trembling and his mind racing. Jim was going to be sorely disappointed – for all the younger man's bravado Spock knew there was nothing that the captain could do – at least, not anything he would allow him to do. He gave another violent shudder at the thought of the offer that Jim had made.

He had been correct in his conjecture that he would be a – a viable partner, but Spock could not –_ would_ not – allow such an event to occur. It was not that he did not desire to – on the contrary, Jim was the most desirable of the potential candidates – he shuddered again, his Starfleet regulation trousers suddenly feeling exceedingly uncomfortable.

But he knew how easily humans broke – how easily Jim would break, in spite of all his self-proclaimed toughness. He recalled with shame how soft, how fragile the captain's neck had felt against his palm, how he had nearly killed the man with a single hand – and the blood fever would only make it worse. He would not allow himself to harm Jim. _He would not._

_

* * *

_

**A/N: **I know this chapter is a bit shorter, but it builds up for the next chapter which is the... pivotal moment I am sure most of you are waiting for. x] Next update will be on Wednesday! Thanks for reading! :D


	4. Closer

**A/N:** Hello again! To everyone who reviewed in the previous chapter - thanks again! :]

This chapter's title comes from the song _"Closer"_ by Nine Inch Nails. Any self-respecting Spirk fan has seen that fabled Closer music video on YouTube, and I have to say that seeing that video first sparked the idea for me to write a non-fluffy Pon Farr fic (as fluffy-Pon-Farr has always been a pet peeve of mine). So this chapter is a nod to that video. x]

This chapter is also a bit on the shorter side, but they all get longer from here, I promise! ;]

* * *

Chapter Four: Closer

"I'm a doctor, Jim, not a miracle worker," McCoy said wearily, rubbing bleary eyes with a calloused hand. "Or a chemist. I can't just invent a drug that'll magically get rid of the adrenalin he's overdosing on."

"Are you sure there's nothing?" Jim begged, looking at the doctor with that irritatingly pleading look. "We have to help him, Bones, we have to try – "

"Dammit, Jim, we _are_ tryin'!" he snapped, "But tryin' isn't gonna make things work. Sometimes there's just no solution and no amount of tryin' will change that." Jim fell silent and McCoy bitterly turned away. He knew that he wasn't telling the kid what he wanted to hear, but dammit, he was right and he _hated_ it. He ought to know better than anyone that you couldn't save everyone, couldn't cure every sickness or heal every wound, yet Jim seemed to refuse to acknowledge even the possibility of failure.

"Look, Jim," he said in a much softer tone, "I know Spock's your friend. I know this is a shitty situation and I know you want to fix it. Believe me, I know. But sometimes things don't work the way we want, and if we've done all we can and it doesn't work, then dammit, there's nothing we can do."

"He's going to _die_, Bones," Jim whispered, putting a hand over his eyes. McCoy sighed and reached over to put an arm around his shoulders.

"I know," he said simply, looking away in sympathy and despair, "I know."

* * *

Spock did not sleep that night, and neither did Jim. The Vulcan spent four hours restlessly pacing his quarters, unable to sit still for all the adrenalin racing through him, much less sleep. The noise of it kept Jim wide awake in his bed, not that he could have slept anyway. Though he lay immobile in his sheets, his mind was as active as Spock was in the adjoining room.

He kept searching for an answer, but none came. For all his professed disbelief in no-win situations, his hope and confidence in his promise to Spock grew bleaker with every second that ticked by, with every rhythmic step that came from the Vulcan's quarters.

In spite of his tentative offer to Spock, Jim was, honestly, slightly glad that the Vulcan had so firmly denied him, as selfish as that seemed. Jim was known as a ladies' man for a reason – he had never felt the urge to sleep with anything that did not have wide swaying hips and full perky breasts. He would have done it with Spock had he accepted the offer – or would have tried to, at least – but the thought of having violent hardcore sex (as he assumed it would be) with his stoic First Officer made him feel somewhat ill.

But there was a part of him (a part that he tried not to acknowledge) that wondered if it would really be so bad, that he should insist on saving his friend's life, that maybe even it might be the start of something deeper than –

Whoa. Whoa, whoa, whoa, where the hell had _that_ come from? He sat up and scrubbed a hand through his hair. He definitely didn't feel like _that_ towards Spock – _definitely _not. The future-Spock had said they would need each other, but he had said as friends – not anything more. Definitely not.

Jim fell back against his pillows with a sigh. His mind was running in circles and in spite of his exhaustion he could not get himself to sleep any deeper than a light and uneasy dozing.

He heard Spock shower twice in the span of an hour and a half – he tried not to think about what he was certain the Vulcan was doing in there – and managed to get maybe an hour of real sleep, then his alarm went off at 0600 and he got up with a groan.

He showered and dressed to the sound of Spock pacing and when he left, the footsteps were not as fast but were still clearly audible. Jim stepped into the hallway with a heavy feeling of desolation weighing on his shoulders.

* * *

Spock continued pacing for another three hours, twenty-two minutes and fifty-three seconds, until finally he collapsed on his bed, not bothering with the tangled sheets. He could feel his rationality slipping away from him like the sands of Vulcan's deserts in his fingers, and he could feel his consciousness fading away with it. Sheer exhaustion finally forced him into a restless sleep plagued with red-tinted, fevered dreams, and every dream was of Jim. He dreamt of pulling Jim into their bathroom and tumbling together into the shower, of Jim's face glistening with perspiration as he peeled off his command gold, of pinning him down and taking him on the clean and sterile white bridge, of losing himself and quenching his burning desire in the coolness of his human body.

He vaguely heard the bathroom door swish open but in his delirium he paid it no heed.

Jim peered worriedly from the doorway at Spock, who lay on his bed as if sleeping, but from the periodic spasms of his body and jerks of his head, if he was truly sleeping than it was decidedly unrestfully.

Jim was exhausted. While the day had been uneventful, it had been long and he had never stopped worrying. It was maybe a quarter after 2300 hours and he had only finished dinner moments before, then hurried back to his quarters to check on his friend. Now, slowly, he stepped into the room and towards Spock, quietly so that if he was indeed asleep, he would not wake him. He observed his restless form for a while, flinching every time Spock thrashed or tossed his head, and noted with anxiety the heavy green flush of his skin and sheen of sweat on his cheeks.

He was dying, and Jim knew it. He reached out to touch the Vulcan's face, then jerked his hand away from the unfathomable heat.

"Shit, Spock," he hissed – the man felt like he was on fire, even for a Vulcan.

Spock's eyes opened laboriously and he glanced about the room before his gaze settled on Jim.

"Hey," Jim said simply, studying the Vulcan's glazed-over eyes and dilated pupils. "Are you doing alright?" He felt like a stupid douchebag the moment the words left his lips – he was obviously not "doing alright" – but Spock did not even seem to hear him.

"Jim," he whispered, his voice hoarse, "I need – I need – "

"Hold on," he replied in a hushed tone, "You're burning up. I'm gonna get you some water, okay?" He took a step away, and panic flooded Spock's barely-functioning mind.

"No!" he shouted, and with a strength and speed inconsistent with his previous lethargy, he jumped up, grabbed Jim by the arm, and wrenched him back over to the bed, forcing him down and twisting so that he was looking over the cold human body. Jim grunted in surprise and pain and automatically pushed a hand against Spock's chest in vain.

"Shit, Spock," he said anxiously as he realized the threatening situation he was in, "Sorry, sorry, I won't go, but you gotta get off me, Spock, please Spock you're hurting me, you gotta – "

"You talk far too much," the Vulcan growled, and he dipped his head down and ground his lips desperately against Jim's.

Panic pulsed through Jim as he pushed vainly at the Vulcan's heavy, powerful body. He had to get away, had to escape – his fist collided with Spock's jaw and his head recoiled, and for a moment Jim thought he might be able to wriggle away, but then Spock pressed the full weight of his body against the smaller man, grabbing him by the wrists to pin him down as his knees dug into his legs.

"Spock, you have to stop," Jim begged, struggling vainly as Spock released one wrist, only to hold both in place with a single hand, to run his free hand hungrily down the length of his chest and tug insistently at the waistband of his trousers, reveling in the faint gasps it elicited from the cool human mouth ghosting against his own.

The only thoughts pounding through Spock's head were ones of lust and desire and need. He could not let Jim get away – could not! With a savage growl, he pressed his free hand against the side of Jim's face. His fingers found the meld points as if drawn by magnets, and he was aware of Jim letting out a strangled cry before everything went blessedly, blessedly dark.

* * *

**A/N:** I know, I know, cliffhangers suck. But the next chapter will be up Friday, so the wait won't be unbearable! ;]


	5. The End of Something

**A/N: **Hello, everyone! To everyone who reviewed last chapter, thanks again!

This chapter's title comes from the short story "The End of Something" by **Ernest Hemingway**. Hemingway is one of my favorite authors and I felt that that particular short story fit well with the mood of this chapter. It's fairly short and an interesting read so I would recommend googling it if you haven't read it yet. :]

As always, comments and critiques are welcome! :] Here's chapter five - I hope you enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Five: The End of Something

The first thing that Spock realized was that he had no idea what time it was. This was very startling, and he forced his way through the haze that lingered over his thoughts into the realm of consciousness.

The second thing he became aware of was the faint, stifled sound of weeping coming from below him. His gaze lingered for a moment on the clock that proclaimed it was approaching 0100 hours, then, panting in exhaustion that he could not formulate a reason for, he looked to the source of the noise.

It took him a moment to understand what was going on – his mind seemed to be working incredibly sluggishly. He felt a cool, trembling body pressed against his own as the sharp coppery small of human blood invaded his nostrils, and it took him a moment to realize the bruised face pressed into his pillows was Jim's.

Jim.

And then realization crashed into Spock like a phaser beam to his heart and he jumped away from the smaller, fragile frame, almost tripping over the red pajama pants that pooled around his ankles.

"No," he choked out in desperation, eyes locked on the human's motionless form, "Please, no."

It took Jim a moment realize the hot, heavy Vulcan body was gone. When he felt cool air against his burning skin, though, he scrambled to his feet and yanked his trousers back up around his waist in spite of the burning of his muscles that begged him to stop. He made an attempt to dash for the door, but the searing agony that jolted through his body caused him to double over with a cry.

"Jim," Spock whispered in horror, reaching out as if to somehow help him. Jim recoiled in terror before the Vulcan could touch him, however, his eyes wide in panic and Spock could see clearly the five finger-tip shaped bruises along his meld points and red-tinted scratches marring the rest of his face.

"Don't touch me!" Jim cried, face twisting in rage and pain as he stumbled for the bathroom door, "Get away from me – get off my ship! _Get off my ship_!" He was shouting now, and sobbing, tears and blood dribbling down his cheeks. Spock stood motionlessly, transfixed in revulsion, as Jim stumbled from the room and he heard the lock click from the other door.

Spock's breathing came in short heavy gasps, his mouth agape in sheer, gut-wrenching disbelief – he did not know if the wetness he felt on his face was tears or blood, because suddenly every part of him ached as though he had fallen from a great height – and he did the only thing he could manage to do – he leaned over and vomited into his wastebasket.

* * *

For a long while Jim stood trembling over his desk, struggling to calm his heavy breathing and thundering heart. When he finally had control of his lungs once more, he straightened up to look at his clock, wincing against the pain that burst through his back from the action. It was 0100 hours. He shuddered when he realized he had been in there for an hour and a half – he had quickly lost track of time, and though it had felt like it had lasted an eternity, an hour and a half still seemed revoltingly long.

He wanted to scream; he wanted to cry. This wasn't how it was supposed to happen – it wasn't – he wanted –

Sickbay. He needed Sickbay. He desperately clung to the thought like a tractor beam, forcing himself to focus, to stay in control. He had to get to Sickbay – it was only 0100, Bones had to still be awake, he _had_ to. He took one stiff step forward, then another, every nerve in his body crying out in adamant protest. He grit his teeth against the pain – he couldn't let any of the crew find out, no matter what – and forced himself to take another step, and another, and another, until he was out of his quarters and into the hallway. He focused on every step he took, struggling to move at a normal pace while keeping his features from twisting in agony, and luckily, the halls were vacant.

When he got into the thankfully empty turbolift he slumped against the wall for a moment before managing to say, "Sickbay." He straightened up again as the turbolift hummed to life and the doors opened seconds later. He stumbled the last few feet to the door to McCoy's office and knocked at it urgently, calling out,

"Bones."

"Come in," came the muffled reply, and he heaved the door open and tottered in on unsteady legs. The doctor was seated at his desk, turned away from him as he leaned heavily against the closed door.

"Bones," he whimpered, "Bones, you gotta help me..." McCoy turned around quickly at the tone of Jim's words and he jumped up to steady him as he teetered precariously.

"Shit, Jim, what the fuck did you do?" he hissed, looking over him quickly and pulling him towards a chair.

"I can't sit," Jim cried quickly as the doctor started to push him into the seat, "I can't – I was – " He choked over the words, fighting back tears. "Spock," he finally managed to force out. McCoy stared at him for a long moment, his face paling as realization set in. Then, with a grim cast about his eyes, he said gruffly,

"Let's get you into a private examination room. Chapel's already asleep and everyone else is gone..."

He nearly carried Jim out the door and a few feet down the hall, both of the man's arms slung about his shoulders and grasping desperately at the fabric of his shirt as he gingerly supported him from the waist.

He helped Jim onto an examination bed where he lay down on his chest, trembling and gasping.

"That son of a _bitch_!" McCoy hissed, his voice rising until the last word came out as a shout, "I swear to God, Jim – "

"Bones, please, we can deal with it later," Jim begged, "Please, everything just hurts so fucking bad, Bones, please – "

"All right," the doctor replied, his voice sharp as he reached for a tricorder. After a moment of scanning he said, "I'm gonna have to cut these off, Jim." The younger man nodded silently, and McCoy retrieved a pair of scissors and sliced off the black trousers, down the middle seams along Jim's legs.

For an unbearably long moment the doctor was silent, the only noise in the room being Jim's stifled, choked sobs, and McCoy felt a small part of himself die.

"You're bleeding pretty bad," he said softly, "I'm gonna give you a hypo so you can sleep while I'm fixing you up, okay?" Jim nodded wordlessly once more and McCoy shuffled through a few cabinets.

After a moment there was a familiar prick on Jim's neck, but he barely acknowledged the hypo for the rest of the pain throbbing through him.

McCoy stood silently, watching his friend slip into unconsciousness with an ache in his heart he had never felt before. Finally, sighing, he pulled on his gloves and miserably began to work.

* * *

When Jim woke groggily, he was wearing a clean white hospital gown, and he was tucked firmly into the red sheets of a Sickbay bed. He looked around blearily, glancing at the clock that read 0230. McCoy stepped in as he sat up somewhat and stretched his arms, his muscles aching but not screaming the way they had been.

"Feeling better?" the doctor said gruffly. Jim nodded slowly. The doctor had done well fixing him physically, but he hurt where no hypo or dermal regenerator could reach. His best friend had betrayed him, hurt him on every level, and nothing McCoy did could change that. It pained him more to think – no, to _know_ – that it was not intentional, that it was not the real Spock who had done this. But that didn't change anything either.

"I don't know what you want me to do, Jim," McCoy continued sharply, visibly upset, "I almost called Security on that greenblooded motherfucker, but I figured I'd best wait until you woke up."

"Don't do that," he said sharply, "You know he wasn't in his right mind, Bones."

"God dammit, Jim, I don't know how you can _say_ that!" the doctor growled, "You may be right, but dammit, it doesn't change the fact that he fucking _raped_ you – I was the one who had to fix you up, you don't know how bad he hurt you – "

"For fuck's sake, Bones, maybe you forgot but I was the one who was _there_!" Jim shouted back, rage bursting in him like a lit match into a tank of gasoline. They glared at each other for a moment, then Jim said in a soft voice,

"Don't do it, Bones. We can make this work, we can fix this. If we could just talk to him – "

"All right, all right," McCoy replied, keeping his voice low and fighting against his indignation, "But we're dealing with this _now_. I'm calling him to Sickbay." Jim nodded, almost imperceptibly, and sat up a little straighter as McCoy reached for the commlink.

His mind was racing. What would he say? What _could_ he say? Somehow he didn't think it would just be a matter of forgiving and forgetting, though he desperately wished it could be.

"Sickbay to Spock," McCoy said loudly into the comm, pulling Jim from his thoughts. The comm was silent. The doctor frowned and said again, "Sickbay to Spock. Come in, Spock." Still the comm did not answer, the only reply they received being the faint crackle of static on the other end.

McCoy sighed and stepped away from the commlink, calling out,

"Computer, determine the location of First Officer Spock." There was a slight pause very uncharacteristic of the usually warp-quick computer, then it replied in the standard female voice,

"First Officer Spock is not currently aboard the ship."

Jim sat up quickly, wincing slightly but ignoring it, exclaiming, "Computer, where was Spock last located, and when?"

"First Officer Spock was last located in the transporter room at 0137 hours," came the computer's reply.

For a moment the two men stared at each other in stunned silence, McCoy's face reddening in anger as Jim's features drained of all color.

"I did it, Bones," he whispered, "When I got away I told him... I shouted at him to get off the ship." He swallowed heavily, his eyes burning as his life came crashing down around him. "And that's exactly what he's done, Bones."

"We entered transporter range of Starbase 72 about five hours ago," McCoy said faintly, "We must have still been in range when he..."

Jim's mind had stopped; everything was suddenly bursting with pain and he knew his life was seriously fucked up now and it was nobody's fault but his own.

He couldn't take it. He curled forward, his hands on his knees and his head in his hands, and he sobbed.

* * *

**A/N: **Next update will be on Sunday. Thanks for reading!


	6. Heart of Darkness

**A/N:** Hello again! Thanks to everyone who reviewed last chapter :]

This chapter's title comes from the novel "Heart of Darkness" by **Joseph Conrad**. It's a story about a white man traveling to Africa where he witnesses the disturbing reality of the ivory trade and the consequential racism against the natives, and then realizes that everyone is capable of such atrocities, including himself. Basically it is about someone who believes themselves to be "righteous" in a sense, then travels to a figurative "heart of darkness" and realizes he is no better than everyone else, equal to the scum of the earth. Which is why I have chosen it to be this chapter's namesake x]

Anyways, as always, comments and critiques are welcome. Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Six: Heart of Darkness

_To Whom it May Concern:_

_ Greetings. This is Commander Spock of the _USS Enterprise_ NCC-1701_

_ I have sent this message for the sole purpose of resigning from Starfleet. This includes relinquishing my positions as First Officer and Chief Science Officer aboard the _Enterprise_, in addition to my rank of Commander within Starfleet Academy, and all the privileges and duties associated with these titles. I have attached the appropriate resignation forms to this message, and my Starfleet identification documents will be beamed to the San Francisco headquarters within the week._

_ I apologize for the abruptness of this message. However, it was not originally my intention to remain with Starfleet after the destruction of the planet Vulcan, and my past five months aboard the _Enterprise_ have only further convinced me that I will be of much more use elsewhere than I am aboard the ship__. I am quite confident that the ship and crew will continue to function at full efficiency without me._

_ Regards,_

_ Spock son of Sarek_

Jim stared at the PADD for a long while after he had finished reading the message that had been forwarded to him – and the entire crew as well – by Admiral Komack with a brief addition from the admiral beneath Spock's message that simply read, "_I sure hope you know about this_."

He set the PADD aside silently. Yes, he knew about it, knew it too damn well. For all the Vulcan's proclaimed aversion to dishonesty, Spock was one hell of a liar.

It was nearly 0500 – not even four hours since he had fled the _Enterprise_ and his resignation letter was already in. Jim rolled over in the bed and stared at the plain white Sickbay wall.

Bones had said he had lots of bruising, internal and external bleeding, a broken wrist, a broken rib, a fractured hip and a bruised bone in his leg, so he wouldn't be up in the bridge for a while. So now he was holed up in a private room in Sickbay, alone with his miserable thoughts. The crew was going to mutiny, he was sure, with a bedridden Captain and a First Officer who had turned tail.

"I just updated the Sickbay roster," came McCoy's voice from the other side of the room, "So you're officially off-duty for the next 48 hours, and we'll see how you're doing after that."

He did not respond – what was the point? – and after a moment he heard the doctor turn and walk away.

He did not sleep, but he did not feel entirely conscious. The minutes slipped by him like mist in the wind as his mind replayed the last several hours over and over again, in agonizing slow-motion and excruciating detail.

Twice he was aware of McCoy quietly entering the room and inspecting each of the machines and monitors he was hooked up to, and then, just as silently, step out of the room and shut the door behind him.

His fractured hip was beginning to hurt. He rolled over onto his back, staring unblinkingly at the cold white ceiling.

The door burst open and Uhura rushed in, still in pajamas with her hair pulled back in a messy, hasty ponytail.

"What the _hell_ is_ this_?" she demanded, holding up a PADD, and Jim did not have to guess as to what she was referring to as McCoy appeared at her side and hissed,

"Stop it, Uhura."

Jim could feel her gaze lingering on him but he did not move or even look back at her – his mind felt so numb that he was certain his body could not respond to any of his commands. Finally her voice came again, no longer directed at him.

"You better tell me what's going on, Leonard, _right now_." There was a slight pause and he felt McCoy's gaze on his as well. Why couldn't they just leave him alone, dammit?

"Patient confidentiality," the doctor snapped irritably after a long moment, "I'll tell you what I can, but I don't think you'll be satisfied."

Jim closed his eyes as the doctor pulled Uhura out of the room and the door swept shut behind them. He heard the lock click – finally it seemed McCoy was putting his brain cells to good use.

He ached down to the core. None of this should have happened – his life was finally getting on a road that didn't end in a bar fight gone wrong or a hoverbike crash, and now this road too was crumbling beneath his very feet. He, James Tiberius Kirk, who was infamous wherever he went as a womanizer, a sex addict – _he _should never have had to even consider the possibility of being raped – by his best friend – and not only physically but mentally too.

That was the worst part, really. McCoy had pumped him full of painkillers for the headaches (among other things), but they could not ease the torturous pain of remembering Spock's mind invading his own, of knowing and feeling as the other man burrowed into every crevice of his brain while seeing the unbearable, burning desire that fueled the attack.

He had seen everything Spock was feeling – seen the suffocating fear and shame of Spock's conscious mind that was enveloped and buried in a lustful delirium. Jim suffered, but he knew Spock suffered as well, maybe even more – and that did not make him feel better but rather dumped salt into the gaping wound in his heart.

He rolled over, onto his stomach, and closed his eyes. Sleep would not come – he wondered if he would ever be able to sleep again – but at least he would not have to stare at the white wall anymore, identical to the white walls of the rest of the ship, of Spock's now-empty quarters.

* * *

To Spock, everything felt illogically surreal, not like a dream but a nightmare. He had beamed himself down to Starbase 72 mere minutes before the _Enterprise_ went beyond transporter range – no one would be able to follow him, or at least would be severely delayed – and the ship's transporter room had been strangely empty, not that he was complaining.

He wore a black civilian Vulcan cloak with the deep hood pulled low over his eyes as he boarded a commercial transport shuttle for several hours, typing up and then sending in his letter of resignation, then staring blankly at his feet in a struggle to keep his mind clear. After some hours had elapsed – he had no idea the exact time, nor how many passengers were on the shuttle, nor any other such detail he would normally be aware of with little consideration – he disembarked on a Starbase whose name he could not recall, and then boarded another shuttle to make the voyage to New Vulcan.

His hands trembled, still, in the aftermath of the blood fever – he kept his long billowing sleeves pulled over them as he sat motionlessly through the seven-hour ride to the Starbase nearest New Vulcan. He focused on the intake of his lungs, the beating of his heart – focused with an intensity that did not allow him to think of anything else, for he knew his fragile control would be demolished if he allowed his mind to travel in the direction he knew it wished to go.

When he disembarked the shuttle and stepped onto the transporter pad, everything still felt unreal to him. When he stepped onto the New Vulcan sands, the heat felt unreal as well, a stark contrast to the regulated temperature of the _Enterprise_ he had grown accustomed to, like the coolness of –

No. He would not allow himself to think of it. The blood fever still lingered in his veins, but the worst had passed. Certainly he would survive, but a deep guilt came with the thought.

It was quite warm, like Vulcan had been, but Vulcan had been dry heat. This planet was considerably more humid and Spock found it to be rather uncomfortable as he got directions, and in the process realized his Vulcan language skills had become dystrophic with disuse, and he began walking, a single duffle bag of his most important belongings in one hand.

It was not a long walk, nor was the house difficult to locate. His father's home looked like a typical Vulcan estate, a simple large rectangle of gray stone amongst the brilliant red sands.

He stood for a long moment in front of the door, then banished all his illogical nervousness from his mind and knocked.

After a moment the door opened to reveal a short servant woman with graying hair who peered at him and said,

"Do you have an appointment with Ambassador Sarek?"

"I am Spock," he replied simply. The servant woman studied him a moment longer, then stepped aside and ushered him into the entry room. A blast of cool, dry air greeted him as he set his bag down next to the door and the servant went to announce his presence to Sarek.

He found his way to the living area – all Vulcan residences were quite similar in layout, as was logical – where he found his father sitting in a black cushioned chair with a PADD in his lap. The older Vulcan raised an eyebrow but rose to greet him, and Spock bowed his head slightly in response.

"Spock," said his father, stepping closer to him, "You presence is unexpected – " He looked his son over. " – as is your state of health."

Spock looked to the floor, shame consuming him. He was loath to inform his father of the scandalous situation – but he had a right to know why he was here – and it would only be logical to tell him –

Sarek studied him in his uncertain silence, then gestured towards another chair. "Come, let us make ourselves comfortable," he said as he sat back down. Slowly Spock sat down as well, his gaze still kept carefully away from his father. "Speak, Spock. What troubles you so?"

"I have – committed a most grievous mistake," he whispered faintly, and suddenly he found himself confessing to the entire situation, the words bursting almost uncontrollably from his mouth as he relived the days from when he had last spoken to his father until that moment. And when the story was complete, he snapped his mouth shut in fear he would empty the meager contents of his stomach once more, for he felt very ill.

Sarek was silent for one minute and twelve seconds as Spock stared guiltily at his feet. Finally the older Vulcan leaned back with a sigh.

"That is a very distressing situation," he murmured. There was another long pause, this one measuring forty-seven seconds, before he spoke again.

"I cannot advise you in how to handle or rectify your mistake," he said, his voice gentle but certain, "However, I can tell you this. While I am inconceivably disappointed in the actions you have taken, Spock, you are still my son, of whom I am most proud. You are always welcome here, and you are free to stay as long as you wish."

He did not deserve such mercy.

"I cannot express the extent of my gratitude," he began, but Sarek interjected,

"It is not necessary to be expressed. I have only taken the course of action that all respectable fathers would have taken as well." He pressed his lips together in the shadow of a smile. "It seems as though that 'unconditional love' your mother was so fond of speaking of has, how would she say, 'rubbed off' on me after all. How... illogical."

Normally Spock would have felt a faint sense of amusement at his father's humorously Vulcan remark, but he could not even bring himself to attempt to be amused. He had committed the most unforgivable of sins against the man he had once considered his best friend, and for that he would never feel happiness again. He would not allow it.

* * *

**A/N:** Thanks for reading! Next update will be Tuesday.

As a side note, I listed Spock's full name as "Spock son of Sarek" because as far as I am aware, the "S'chn T'gai Spock" thing is more fanon than canon? Unless I have made a huge oversight, in which case please enlighten me D8 Anyway I hate making up last names for people which is why I am simply using the "so-and-so son/daughter of father's name" formula for Vulcans in this story. It seems a little less pretentious to me 8D;


	7. Call Back When I'm Honest

**A/N: **Hello everyone! Thanks again to all the wonderful people who reviewed. :]

**I'd like to address something I think is important really quick.** A lot of people have mentioned that there is a lot of angst in this story which makes them hesitant to continue reading. **There is going to be a LOT of angst in this story!** That's why it's in the warnings in the description. If you feel you cannot handle a large amount of depressing situations, then this story is unlikely to sit well with you for a while. However, I assure you that if you can get through the angst it will definitely be worth it! If you don't mind the angst and still enjoy the story, well, I'm very thankful! :]

Okay! Now that that's out of the way, this chapter's title comes from the song _"Call Back When I'm Honest"_ by a band called **The Almost**. Check it out!

As always, comments and critiques are encouraged. Here's chapter seven - please enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Seven: Call Back When I'm Honest

"Dammit, Jim, you've gotta talk to the crew before they start busting down the damn door."

He closed his eyes.

"I swear to God, Jim – !"

He turned away, hunching his shoulders and pulling the red blanket up over his head so the folds of fabric shielded his face from McCoy's accusing glare.

There was a long moment of silence marred only by the doctor's heavy, angered breathing, and Jim hoped maybe he would finally leave him alone.

"Jim." McCoy's voice was softer now – Jim's heart ached as the doctor pulled back the blanket and placed a warm hand on his shoulder. "Look, Jim, I know this is hard. I know this is probably the worst thing to have happen to you. I _know,_ Jim, and I'll be damned if I don't do everything I can to get you back on your feet. But this is important – if the crew doesn't at least hear you, see you, they're gonna think the worst, with a First Officer who's jumped ship and a Captain holed up in Sickbay. You _have_ to say something to them, Jim, before they decide to do something drastic."

He was quiet for a long time, his mind fumbling clumsily with thoughts he could not keep up with. Some part of him, some rational bit of him buried too deep in the confusion and hurt to be of any real use, knew that what Bones was telling him was true and necessary, but the rest of him recoiled from the idea of doing anything other than sitting quietly right where he was. He didn't want to talk to the crew – he didn't want to talk at _all_. What he really wanted to do was lay down and die, but he doubted that idea would go over well with the doctor.

"I can't talk to them for you," McCoy murmured, "You're the captain, and you're the one they need."

Need? What about _his_ needs? He was the one who just had his entire life reduced to shambles – shouldn't that count for something? He wanted to be angry – felt like he should be angry – but he couldn't bring himself to feel much of anything at all.

More minutes slipped by in silence, McCoy's hand remaining steadfastly on his shoulder. Finally the older man murmured – whispered – begged –

"Please say something, Jim..."

As the words spilled from McCoy's mouth, Jim could feel his strength crumbling as his eyes stung with tears that welled up and spilled over his grisled, unshaven cheeks almost instantly, and he choked back a sob unsuccessfully.

"Oh, Jim..."

And quickly the hand on his shoulder became warm arms enveloping his torso and he threw his arms out, blindly wrapping himself around the doctor's frame and clutching at the blue uniform as he wept like an infant.

"It wasn't supposed to be like this," he whimpered into the older man's shoulder, "It wasn't – I don't – I don't know what to do, Bones, I don't know – how to – how to – " McCoy's arms tightened around him as his speech dissolved into muffled, wordless, heaving sobs.

He had no idea how long they remained there, he leaning over the Sickbay bed to rest against the doctor in a mess of limbs and tears. It may have been a minute or it may have been an hour until his sobs died away into sniffles and gasps, and then into trembling but steady breaths – and McCoy stood steadily, motionlessly against it all, a sentinel against the grief that pulled and raged at the young captain.

Finally, though, he eased away and took a step back, letting Jim sit upright for a moment before leaning back against his multitude of pillows. McCoy reached over and smoothed away Jim's blond hair from his forehead, slicked with cold sweat.

"All right, look," the doctor said in reassuring tones, "I'll send a message to the crew that you're sick but you'll talk to them in an hour or two. That gives you some time to get things together, decide what you're gonna say. How does that sound?"

Slowly, slowly, Jim nodded in acquiescence.

"I'm sick." he repeated faintly, "With... with Andorian flu – nothing to do with – " His voice faltered embarrassingly. " – with him."

"There you go," McCoy replied, stepping towards the intercom, "I'm going to make an announcement to the crew now, okay?"

"Wait," Jim replied, sitting up quickly, "I can do it now. I'm ready."

To McCoy, he certainly did not look "ready", his face pale and covered in a sheen of sweat and tears, faint tremors shooting up his body every few seconds. But Jim looked at him earnestly, forcefully, and McCoy knew that he needed this, needed to assert himself, to convince himself that he was still in control of something, anything.

"All right," McCoy conceded, "Let me help you to the intercom, then."

Jim nodded and, with one trembling arm around the doctor's slim shoulders, stood up and walked on unsteady legs to the intercom on the wall a few yards away. He then pulled away from the doctor and supported himself with the other hand against the wall, breathing heavily.

"Don't push yourself, Jim," McCoy murmured as the captain straightened and steadied himself. He supposed it wasn't such a bad thing Jim looked like crap – at least the crew would believe that he had fallen quite ill. He stepped away as Jim composed himself, then began the ship-wide transmission as the camera clicked to life.

"Attention _Enterprise_," he said, his voice faint but steely with an attempt at his usual commanding tone. "This is Captain Kirk, repeat, this is Captain Kirk. If I could have your attention for just a minute..." He sucked in a breath, licked his lower lip, and wiped his perspiring forehead with one hand before continuing,

"I'd like to address some of the concerns that have been brought to my attention. First I want to say I understand your concern, and your worries are perfectly legitimate, but also unnecessary. I do in fact have a decent case of the Andorian flu, which is why I'm in Sickbay, where I'll be for the next few days. So this has nothing to do with..." He paused nervously, his gut wrenching, and McCoy nodded encouragingly at him. "With the... resignation... of – of the First Officer. As for... _that _matter, I'm – I'm sorry to say I can't offer any explanation other than the – the one he gave in his resignation letter. If that was... his true thoughts on the matter, then – then it took me by surprise just as much as you." He breathed deeply, calming himself.

"So until I'm back on duty, Scott and Sulu will serve as acting Captain and First Officer, and when I'm back I'll select replacement First and Science Officers... so some recommendations would be welcome." He attempted a smile that turned out as a grotesque twisting of his features – he made a mental note to _never_ do that again as he concluded, "So I'm sorry for the inconvenience, and I expect the entire crew to continue performing admirably in my absence. Kirk out."

The moment the intercom was off he stumbled back to his bed, sitting heavily on the edge of the rumpled red sheets as McCoy strode over and placed a comforting hand on each of his shoulders.

"That was good," he said reassuringly, peering in worry at Jim's downcast eyes. "You did real good, Jim. The crew needed that." He nodded silently, glistening blue eyes shrouded in heavy blond lashes.

They stood silently for a moment, then McCoy continued gently,

"You need to rest, Jim, so I'm gonna give you something so you can sleep, okay?"

"I'll have nightmares," Jim whispered. "It won't be rest." McCoy felt his heartstrings being plucked like some kind of horrible, thundering orchestra as he replied,

"I can give you stuff for nightmares, too. Makes it a good dreamless sleep."

Slowly Jim nodded, and he stepped away to get the meds together. When he had the hypospray ready moments later, Jim was still sitting miserably at the edge of the bed. McCoy guided him under the sheets, gently tucked him in like a father putting his son to sleep, and made sure he was comfortable. With a tenderness that was very uncharacteristic of the doctor, he placed the hypospray against Jim's neck, watching the younger man's features flinch as it hissed into his skin, then relax into unconsciousness.

For several minutes the doctor stood over him, depleted hypo in one hand, studying the captain's face with a heavy heart. His once-boyish features had rapidly deteriorated into those of a man bent under the weight of unspeakable tribulations, of an Atlas struggling with the world in its entirety on his shoulders.

And it was all Spock's fault.

With a noise of disgust, McCoy threw the empty hypospray into the trash and retreated into his office.

* * *

"Have you any idea how you will occupy your time while you reside here?"

Spock turned his gaze away from his father, who was scanning a PADD in his lap while lounging against the dark burgundy sofa. In truth, he desired to do nothing but meditate to stave off his guilt and despair, for wallowing in one's sorrows seemed highly illogical. However, to tell his father of such a plan was unlikely to go over well.

"No," he replied simply, tapping nervously, aimlessly, at his own PADD. Sarek lifted his gaze to look at Spock for a moment, then resumed reading whatever was on his display screen as he continued,

"Would you be interested in pursuing participation in the Vulcan Science Academy? I am certain they would readmit you – they are in need of students, so it would be highly illogical for them to turn you down."

He flinched inwardly at the thought – the Science Academy was one of the last places he had any desire to inhabit, after the debacle with the Councilmen following his first acceptance – but he replied evenly,

"I have very little desire to do so."

Sarek seemed to accept this, for he made no reply. Spock nearly expected him to make a comment back – he supposed he had spent too much time around humans, with their rushed speech and illogical need to have the final say in every conversation, so much so that he had forgotten the calm, unhurried, and calculated manner in which Vulcans conversed. Himself included, of course.

Finally Sarek continued,

"Perhaps you should then pursue a job to occupy yourself with. Laziness spawns illogical behavior, and surely you can have no complaint against the additional income it will supply you with." He paused, then added, "I do not wish for you to become a victim to idleness, my son."

It nearly embarrassed Spock how well his father seemed to understand the situation – he did not want him to have enough free time to be able to immerse himself in the intensely negative emotions he was experiencing. His mind found a fitting human phrase – he wanted him to keep his mind off things.

"I would not be adverse to the idea," Spock murmured faintly, and it was not a lie. Sarek nodded slowly.

"I will inquire around the embassy, then," he said, "Perhaps someone knows of a local position you can fill."

Spock only nodded in reply. He wondered if it was even possible for him to find a job – if anyone would hire a rapist, a rapist who was too cowardly to turn himself in to the authorities.

"I think I shall retire early," Spock murmured faintly, feeling himself break into a cold sweat, and Sarek, mercifully, did not look at him as he retreated to his quarters on the opposite wing of the estate.

He rushed into his bathroom, barely making it to the toilet before his evening meal came gushing from his mouth. When his stomach was empty he continued retching, dry heaves tearing through his trembling frame like a phaser blast through his nerves.

He was filled with shame. Vulcans did not break into cold sweats, or have nightmares, or cry, or vomit as a result of unpleasant thoughts. Vulcans did not rape. Vulcans did not destroy the lives of others.

He was not human. But neither was he Vulcan. He had lived with the fact for his entire life, but at that moment the thought crashed into him, clawed at his heart, making wounds as fresh as the day he was old enough, aware enough, to make that painful realization, that damning distinction between himself and the rest of the universe.

He leaned back against the cool red tile when his stomach finally stopped heaving, and remained there motionlessly for one hour, forty-three minutes and seventeen seconds, unable to bring himself to move.

It had been three days, twenty-one hours, and nine minutes since he had fled the _Enterprise_, and with every minute that passed he found himself despising who he was more and more.

* * *

**A/N:** Thanks for reading! The next chapter will be up on Thursday. :] See you then!


	8. Hills Like White Elephants

**A/N:** Hello again! To everyone who reviewed - thanks! And if I didn't personally reply to your review, I apologize wholeheartedly - I was having some computer problems the day before yesterday and so I'm not certain if I got back to everyone who reviewed. If you didn't receive a reply, it's not because I hate you or anything, I promise! ^^;

This chapter's title comes from the short story "Hills Like White Elephants" by Ernest Hemingway. It's a story about a couple who face a major decision - where one path leads to happiness, fertility and life, and the other leads to despair, desolation, and a shadow of a life. I felt that that conflict fits well with this chapter. ;]

I'd like to say that starting from this chapter forward, there are going to be some OCs who become fairly major characters. Just thought I'd give you a heads-up. x]

As always, comments and critiques are welcomed. Enjoy! n-n

* * *

Chapter Eight: Hills Like White Elephants

"All right, Captain Kirk," McCoy said dryly, looking over one of his many PADDs, "Your bone damage has healed, tissue damage healed – looks to me like you're fit for duty." Jim nodded quickly, pressing his lips together in an imitation of a smile. The doctor peered at him for a moment, then back to his PADD while taking a step closer to the younger man and murmuring,

"Now, I know this is gonna be hard for you, so normally I'd get you started on some antidepressants, but from your medical record you're allergic to nearly every drug in the book. And the rest, all of which you've used at some point in the past, have all had very poor results." He sighed, and Jim nodded once more, remembering a time when he had thought his days of needing antidepressants were behind him – which obviously was no longer the case.

"So instead," McCoy continued, "I'm prescribing you to therapy sessions, three times a week, until your therapist decides you don't need it anymore."

Jim wrinkled his nose – he had had a fair share of experience with therapists and psychologists and such in the past as well, and found them nearly as distasteful as the antidepressants.

"Who'll be the therapist?" he asked suspiciously, and McCoy shot him a dark look.

"Me," he snapped, setting his PADD down on a counter. Jim looked at him quizzically.

"You? I wasn't aware you were... qualified in that field. Doctor," he added belatedly, and McCoy sneered at him.

"Unless you'd rather explain the situation to the ship's psychiatrist, I figured you'd prefer it that way," he said gruffly. Jim seemed to shrink back at the idea, and he nodded slowly.

"Thanks, Bones," he said softly, and McCoy's eternal frown faltered before he replied,

"You got it. Now..." He glanced at the clock. "Alpha's only been on for half an hour, so get up to the bridge. I'm sure Mr. Scott will be glad to be relieved of duty." Jim chuckled humorlessly, smoothing out his golden uniform shirt.

"He certainly will," he replied dryly as he turned to leave, "Catch you later, Bones."

"Yeah, yeah," McCoy grumbled, "Unfortunately. Get outta here!"

Jim's decent mood lasted for all of three steps out of Sickbay before an overwhelming anxiety got him in a chokehold. A few passing ensigns smiled hesitantly at him as he neared the turbolift and he nodded at them in reply, unable to bring himself to smile back and exchange a few words, the way he used to do. But that was a different Captain Kirk, he supposed.

What would he say? It would be his first day back, his first day without – without Spock. The name still caused an involuntary shudder. Surely the bridge crew would be expecting him to say something about it, to make some sort of comment about him – but even the _thought_ of speaking about – about the former First Officer filled him with dread and panic.

But – wasn't that what he was trained to do? To be able to think and act under pressure, while in a panic? This was his ship, his crew – he couldn't abandon them just because he was scared. That wasn't what a captain of a Starship did, and especially not the brilliant young captain of the best damn Starship in the 'fleet.

He had to at least pretend to be okay. If not for himself, then for the crew's sake.

"Bridge," he said firmly as he stepped into the turbolift. There was a familiar whooshing sensation, then the doors opened and he stepped, unnoticed, into the bridge. He looked around for a moment at his diligently working crew – he forced himself to feel proud – and he said,

"Good morning, Alpha Shift." There was a collective jolt around the room, and then every eye was upon him. He tried to smile uncomfortably in the sudden silence, until finally Chekov piped up,

"Good morning, Keptin."

Good boy, Pavel, Jim thought in relief as the bridge hummed to life once more. He nodded, then stepped down closer to the command chair. Scotty stood to greet him.

"Ah certainly hope yer here to relieve me, Cap'n," he said briskly, "Ah must admit, bein' away from me home in engineerin' has gotten more than a wee bit tirin'." Jim chuckled.

"You're relieved, Mr. Scott," he said as he sat down slowly, experimentally into the command chair. Scotty nodded quickly, gave a brief salute, and left the bridge in a hurry, obviously quite glad to be able to return to the bowels of the ship.

Jim took a deep breath before continuing, "Status report, helmsman." Sulu turned in his chair to face him and replied,

"We are still en route to Starbase 48, ETA in 27 hours, sir. It's been pretty smooth sailing so far, Captain, so the rest of the trip should be pretty low intensity." Jim nodded.

"Steady as she goes, then," he said slowly. Sulu nodded, turning his attention back to his controls.

Jim leaned back into his chair. He would have to select a new First Officer and a new Science Officer soon, but he didn't want to think about that now – not yet. It was all he could do to focus on running things without breaking down into a mess of anxiety and terror, so choosing replacements would have to wait.

* * *

For two standard days, seventeen hours, and two minutes, Spock remained in his living quarters, alternating between sleeping for a few hours then meditating for several hours more. It was all he could bring himself to do, as both left him in a state of detachment so that he could ignore the raging emotions he knew he was feeling but refused to acknowledge.

He remembered a human belief, one that many had expressed to him, that running from one's situations and problems, that refusing to acknowledge one's pains, did not make things better and was generally considered destructive behavior. Of course, such human standards did not apply to him.

One of his father's servants continually brought him meals three times a day, all of which he simply dumped into the recycler. He did not know which servant it was, however – he was never conscious when the meals arrived. Not that it was a matter of importance.

He knew his father was likely either growing concerned, or his work at the embassy kept him away often enough that he did not even realize Spocks' self-imposed confinement. He was not certain which was worse.

Finally Spock forced himself out of his room on the third day, shortly before the midday meal would be prepared. He hovered in the living area until the meal was served. None of the three servants had acknowledged him, but the meal was laid out at the table for him and he ate silently. He felt like he should not have been hungry – he did not want to be hungry – but his body had begun to demand sustenance after his fast.

When he had consumed his fill, he stepped out into the afternoon heat of the garden. The humidity was still a nuisance, but he ignored the discomfort, knowing he would grow accustomed to it eventually.

The garden was mostly a patch of long grasses and a few of the limited types of flowers that could thrive in the heat, most of which were quite dull in color. The grasses were all muted shades of dusty browns, reds, and very muffled greens, and the flowers boasted little more variety. A typical Vulcan garden – but it seemed strange to see it in a place meant to be his home. His mother had often painstakingly cultivated roses of many vibrant colors – illogical, but a detail of his childhood that he remembered with extreme clarity. He recalled that once as a very young child he had attempted to consume one of a very fluorescent pink color, convinced that it was only logical that something of such a bright color _must_ be pleasing to eat, like the sweet colorful candies his mother would occasionally allow him. Needless to say, his mother was not pleased, and he found the taste to be disappointing at best.

But there were no longer roses in the garden, and there was no longer his mother to take care of what his father could not.

He decided to remain outside long enough to watch the sunset. This planet had a bright orange sun like Vulcan's, but in contrast had two moons where Vulcan had none, one faintly yellow and the other a pale blue in a deep, dusky purple night sky. He watched the sun slip below the rugged, frayed horizon in a burst of colors streaming across the sky, which was painted a deep scarlet by the sun's final rays of light. And then the sun was gone, the vibrant red melted away into the dark night-purple, and the two moons uncloaked themselves, one on either side of the sky, separated by a twinkling sheet of stars.

Every six months marked either the furthest distance the two moons were apart, or the closest they would be, one atop the other with barely a sliver of sky separating them. Currently they were almost at the furthest point – another standard month would mark the change of seasons when they would begin gravitating back towards each other.

He spent forty-seven minutes and twelve seconds standing and observing the night sky and the two moons. Vulcan had had no moon, so he found the presence of two to be... fascinating. The yellow and the blue reminded him of the science and command uniforms, though the colors were extremely muted and pale in comparison – it reminded him of himself and –

No – no, he would not think of it.

He spun rapidly on his heel and strode back into his father's estate, the door closing loudly behind him.

Sarek had been sitting in his usual seat on the burgundy couch, and he looked up as Spock entered.

"Good evening, son," he said simply. Spock nodded once in acknowledgment and seated himself in a black recliner across from his father.

If Sarek was surprised or relieved or any such thing to see him, he made no comment of it, reading over things in his PADD the way he did every evening Spock had observed. Spock did not feel like getting up to retrieve a PADD to entertain himself with, so instead he stared blankly at the intricate traditional rug on the tile as he calculated all the powers of two. He had gotten to 2^147 before his father said,

"I heard something yesterday at the embassy that I thought you might be interested in hearing, Spock."

"I am listening," he replied, looking away from the red and black geometric patterns of the rug and up to Sarek.

"One of the secretaries at the embassy," Sarek said slowly, carefully choosing every word, "has a young daughter, approximately eleven point five standard years of age. His wife – her mother – has fallen ill and will be in the hospital for several months. The daughter is now unsupervised from 2 p.m., when her school lets out, to 6 p.m., when he leaves the embassy, due to her mother's hospitalization." Spock could see where this was going, and he interrupted,

"Is not the child capable of caring for herself for four hours?"

"She is. However..." Sarek paused for a moment. "...However, her mother is human." Spock blinked in mild surprise as Sarek continued, "The child's mixed heritage has caused her to fall victim of the abuse of other children, and her parents fear for her safety if she is left unattended." Spock remained silent for thirty-four seconds, reflecting over the situation. His father then added,

"He asked after you specifically, Spock. They feel that your mixed heritage will make the child more comfortable around you, and easier for you to deal with than it would be for a normal child-minder."

"That is... understandable," Spock murmured slowly, looking blankly at nothing in particular as his mind hummed with activity.

"I know this is not what you had in mind when you said you would pursue holding a job," Sarek added after twelve seconds, "However, the family would be immensely relieved, and extremely thankful for your assisstance. Additionally, it would only be for four hours per day, and only on school days." Again Spock nodded silently. He considered his options for four minutes and fifty-three seconds, Sarek turning his attention back to his PADD. He had no experience with children and could not say that he was exceedingly fond of them, nor that he desired to spend time in their presence. His father was also correct in his observation that he had not been considering child-minding as a possible career option.

However, if the child needed protection... He recalled too clearly the horrific abuse children could perform against those whom they singled out. Looking back to his childhood, he felt that he would have been exceedingly grateful to have had an adult looking after him, someone who could have understood his pain better than his stoic father and overly-emotional mother. If he could provide that comfort, that protection, to another child, did he not have an obligation to do so, to prevent anyone else from having to suffer in the same way?

"I would like to meet the family before I finalize my decision," he finally decided. Sarek nodded as if he had expected such a response.

"Come with me to the embassy tomorrow," he said, "I will introduce you to the father, who can arrange for you to meet the child, and the mother if you feel it necessary."

"The daughter should be sufficient," he mused. "What are their names?"

"The father is called Solap," Sarek replied, "The mother is a human from the Terran continent of Europe named Anja. Their daughter is named T'Lyra."

"T'Lyra," Spock repeated, "I will remember it. I will go to the embassy with you tomorrow. What time do you depart from the house?"

"Seven a.m," Sarek replied. Spock nodded.

"I will be ready," he replied simply, and he stood up.

"I am pleased to hear it," Sarek said, and with that, Spock left the room.

* * *

**A/N: **Thanks for reading! Next chapter will be up on Saturday.


	9. The Road

**A/N: **Hello again, everyone! Thanks again to all the wonderful people who reviewed. :]

This chapter's title comes from the novel "The Road" by **Cormac McCarthy**. It is an excellent post-apocalyptic novel about a father and son who are struggling to survive in a scarcely-inhabited world infested with cannibals. The son is the father's entire world and he does everything he can to protect him - kills for him, starves for him, the whole nine yards. What that means to this story is up to you ;]

As a quick warning, **this chapter is really long**. Hahaha... I didn't mean for it to end up being like twice as long as the other chapters but it just kind of happened that way. It's long and it seems like not a whole heck of a lot is happening - if you look though, you can tell that more is happening on a symbolic level than an action-y level. I'm not entirely happy with how this chapter turned out but I fiddled with it as best as I could so I hope it's tolerable for you readers. _;

As always, comments and critiques are vastly appreciated! :]

* * *

Chapter Nine: The Road

At seven in the morning, Spock and his father left the house. Silently they entered Sarek's hovercar, one of the servants holding the door open for them, then closing it when they settled in. The hovercar hummed to life, lifted off the ground, and they were off.

The drive to the embassy was largely a silent and uneventful one. Spock kept his gaze firmly out the window of the hovercar, watching the red-brown landscape roll by into the dusty gray of the inner city where the embassy was located. It was a fairly short commute of eleven standard minutes and seventeen seconds, and then they exited the hovercar when it stopped in front of the embassy and Sarek led the way inside.

The interior of the embassy was made entirely of cool slate-gray stone polished and glazed to a clean, bright shine. It was very quiet, the only noises coming from footsteps along the stone tile and the receptionists tapping at PADDs. They garnered no attention, not even a passing glance, as they strode through the entrance to Sarek's office, where he worked as an assisstant to the Terran ambassador. There was only one ambassador from each major Federation species – the Vulcans wished to create and maintain their colony as identical to the original Vulcan as possible, so outside influences were kept at an absolute minimum. As such there were very few non-Vulcans on the entire planet, and they were all severely limited in whom they could come into contact with.

Sarek deposited his briefcase in his office, quickly looked over the memos on his desk, then said simply,

"Come."

They left his office and headed to the east wing of the building. Sarek led Spock into another room where two men were sitting at desks facing away from each other, both absorbed in the PADD screens in front of them.

Sarek stepped over to the one on the right, an average-sized male with slicked-back hair and a large hooked nose, with a green mug of tea on his desk.

"Greetings, Solap," Sarek said quietly, and the man looked up at the two and immediately stood.

"Greetings, Sarek," he replied, looking quickly between father and son.

"This is my son, Spock," Sarek said, gesturing towards him, "I have informed him of the situation at hand." Spock pushed back his uneasiness as he nodded once in recognition.

"Greetings, Solap," he said as he lifted his hand in the ta'al – the older man lifted his hand quickly in response. "As my father stated, I have been made aware of your dilemma. While I am not adverse to assisting you, I would like to become acquainted with you and your daughter before I finalize my decision."

"A logical choice of action," Solap replied, nodding once. He paused a moment in thought, then continued, "I retrieve my daughter from school at two p.m. Although I was planning on taking her to visit her mother in the hospital today, I am certain there will be sufficient time to do so after introducing her to you."

"That sounds agreeable," Spock said. Solap looked at him – studied him – analyzed him for a long and somewhat uncomfortable moment – although Spock had been subject to countless similar scrutinizing stares in his lifetime, he always found them illogically unsettling. Finally Solap said slowly,

"If you meet me in the lobby of the embassy at two p.m., I will take you with me to retrieve my daughter, then to your place of residence."

"I will be there," Spock said simply.

"I am pleased," Sarek said, breaking his observing silence, "Spock, you are welcome to pass the hours between now and the appointed time however you please. I must return to my duties."

"I apologize for detaining you," Solap said with an air of honest sincerity, bowing his head slightly.

"Think nothing of it," Sarek replied, "Live long and prosper." With that, he turned and left.

"Excuse me," Solap murmured, "But I also have duties I must attend to."

"Of course," Spock said, "I will be in the lobby at two in the afternoon. Live long and prosper."

"Live long and prosper," he replied faintly as he sat back down at his desk. The man across from them had never once looked away from his work, as if Spock and Sarek had never even been there.

Spock left, closing the door quietly behind him. He walked silently out of the embassy, pulling up the hood of his dark gray robe as he entered the harsh sunlight. He was not certain where he was going, but he began walking away from the building along the north sidewalk.

The dull, dusty gray streets were just as silent as the embassy had been, save for the hum of hovercars approximately thirty feet above the ground, the few pedestrians around Spock walking quietly and purposefully to wherever their destinations were, each one within Spock's sight wearing gray or black robes with the hoods pulled deep over their eyes, making them all appear nearly identical. Spock pulled his own hood lower over his eyes. He could feel himself beginning to perspire.

He walked aimlessly for twelve minutes and eleven seconds, heading unwaveringly north, until he passed a fairly large building from which he could hear soft music playing. The building looked like a music hall – they were the prevalent locations of relaxation for Vulcans – and so he paused in front of the building, then made up his mind and stepped inside. A blast of cool air and soft noise greeted him, and he slowly lowered his hood. He strode through the main entrance, noting a set of stairs in the corner that usually indicated second or third floors where alternate performances were being held, in case the music was not to one's liking. He entered the main music hall to the sound of a piano, a Terran instrument he had, at his mother's urging, studied in his adolescence.

The music hall was relatively small, with only ten rows of approximately ten seats each. A quick glance about the room showed it was nearly deserted – not surprising considering the time of day – with only four other inhabitants, plus the performer.

The performer was a male with somewhat graying hair that hung slightly over the collar of his light brown tunic. He appeared to be approximately one hundred standard years of age, and Spock found it surprising that he was playing what sounded like an ancient Terran piece by an ancient Terran composer (Mozart, it sounded like, or perhaps Bach) on an ancient Terran instrument. Of course, that also made the vacancy of the room hardly surprising, as the most popular musical instrument was by far the ka'athyra, the Vulcan lute, and the most popular music was contemporary Vulcan pieces.

Spock took a seat towards the back of the hall, in the eighth row, a considerable distance from any of the other spectators, none of whom seemed to pay him any mind. In spite of the meager audience, the performer appeared to be playing more than capably as he transitioned into another piece that Spock did not recognize but that sounded vaguely Orion in nature.

Spock closed his eyes and entered a very light state of meditation. He allowed the music to aid him in easing his tense muscles into relaxation as his mind reflected over the brief yet poignant events of the morning.

Solap had seemed quite tense for the first few minutes of their meeting, and appeared to be relieved when he had asked to meet his daughter. He must have been very concerned – the situation must be dire, Spock decided.

He also found it worth noting that Solap had never referred to his daughter by name, only as "my daughter". Spock could not find a logical reason for this, but found it nonetheless fascinating. Surely he was not ashamed of his daughter – although he supposed that could be a possibility, if an unlikely one considering the concern he had expressed for her. The girl's name was T'Lyra, which was definitely not a Vulcan name but sounded rather like a Vulcanized Terran name. This was not surprising, though, all things considered.

He wondered what the child was like. He wondered if she was anything like himself, the way he had been at her age. She would be the only other half Vulcan he had ever met. He supposed that was of some small significance.

He found the music to be very acceptable, and so there he remained.

* * *

"Who should I pick for science officer? There weren't many recommendations or requests..."

"Well, you better make a decision soon or Starfleet's gonna decide for you."

Jim wrinkled his nose at the doctor's comment as he skimmed through a PADD.

"I dunno, Bones, I don't really feel like any of these people are really qualified for the position."

"Don't hold them to a standard they can't reach, Jim."

He winced inwardly – the statement was cushioned, but he knew exactly what – who – Bones was talking about, and the thought of... _him_ still made him uneasy.

McCoy pulled the PADD from his hands and grumpily began looking through the candidates.

"I would pick her," he said finally, giving the PADD back to Jim, "Lieutenant Nakamura. She's got degrees in physics and chemistry, graduated from Starfleet on the science track, recommendations from all her commanding officers."

"I don't think I can handle two Asians on the bridge," Jim chuckled faintly.

"Have you seen this girl?" McCoy scoffed.

"Oh, yeah, of course. The serious looking one with the really long hair, right?"

"That's the one. She's nothing like Sulu. She won't cause any trouble."

"I'll keep her in mind," Jim sighed, "I still need a first officer, though."

"You could pick anyone," McCoy snorted, "First Officer is a damn glorified secretary more than anything. Hell, you could get your yeoman to do it – what's her name, the ditsy blond one? Janice something?"

"I should make you First Officer, then," Jim chuckled. McCoy shot him a dark look and snapped,

"I don't have time to sit around and twiddle my thumbs on the bridge all day. I actually do things here in Sickbay that are, you know, _important._"

"Could've fooled me," Jim muttered, and McCoy glared. "I'm joking, joking, jeez..." Jim set the PADD down and leaned back in his chair, stifling a yawn.

"Damn, I'm tired," he groaned, rubbing his eyes.

"Been sleeping all right?" McCoy asked gruffly, and Jim lowered his gaze.

"...No," he admitted softly.

"Nightmares? Insomnia?"

"A little of both," he sighed, "It's hard to fall asleep, and when I do I can't stay asleep for long."

"I'll see if I can prescribe you something," the doctor said, reaching for a PADD.

"No," Jim said quickly, "No, I don't want anything, I feel..." He trailed off, then said firmly, "I just don't want to take anything, Bones."

"Why the hell not? Jim, don't be ridiculous," McCoy began with a snap, but Jim hurriedly cut him off.

"I know, I know, it's stupid, but I feel like..." Once again he struggled for words, his glance darting about the office in anxiety. McCoy looked at him suspiciously, and he concluded weakly, "I just really don't want to take anything, okay?"

"You feel like?" McCoy pressed, and Jim looked away. "Dammit, Jim, I'm trying to help you, but I can't do that if I don't know what's going through your head!"

Jim gazed at the floor for a long while, gathering his thoughts as McCoy began shuffling through the things on his desk. Finally he began, in a low murmur,

"I feel... I don't want to take anything because – because I feel like I shouldn't feel better."

"Jim," McCoy began, only to have Jim bowl him over in a rush,

"Because I know – I know he's hurting too," he said, his voice beginning to sound choked, "Because I know he's tortured by this – probably more than me – and why should I deserve to feel better when he – when he – " He broke off with a heavy intake of breath, struggling against tears pricking against his eyelids.

"Jim," McCoy murmured, very softly, "Of course you deserve to feel better. None of this was your fault – you didn't _deserve_ any of this, Jim. You don't have to suffer."

"But he – "

"_He _doesn't matter," the doctor interjected, obviously fighting to keep his tone calm, "No matter _how_ he feels about any of this – you can't think about that, Jim. You have to think about _you_."

Jim was silent, his gaze steadfastly remaining on the white Sickbay floor. After a moment, McCoy reached over and offered him a box of tissues, from which he silently grabbed a handful and pressed them to his eyes.

"Listen, Jim," the doctor continued slowly, "This is where you belong, here in space with your own ship, your own crew. This is the purpose of your _life_. You can't let it go to shambles, Jim. You gotta hold it together, because I know – I _know_ – you don't wanna go back to a life before Starfleet, before the _Enterprise_. You can't let this destroy you."

Throughout McCoy's speech, Jim had kept his face pressed firmly in the wad of tissues in his hands, shoulders trembling faintly in silent tears that the doctor, mercifully, did not point out. He remained this way for a long moment, sorrow coursing through McCoy as he watched, then slowly looked away. And then there was a surge of anger – of deep, intense hate for the person – the _thing_ – that had done this to his friend, his brother. No matter how much Jim insisted on Spock's innocence, McCoy blamed the son-of-a-bitch hobgoblin for everything. If he could get a hand on the damn Vulcan –

"You're right," Jim said hoarsely, suddenly, wrenching the doctor from his grim thoughts, "I know you're right, Bones, I really do. But that doesn't make it any easier to – to live by it – you know?"

"...Yeah," McCoy said softly, gingerly laying a hand on Jim's shoulder. "Please let me help, Jim. I know... I know this is anything but easy – but your crew needs you, and dammit, I need you too. I hate seeing you like this, Jim, I hate it."

There was a long silence – at least, it felt like a long time. Then finally, finally, Jim murmured,

"All right."

McCoy gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze, then reached for a PADD.

"I'll prescribe you some sleeping meds," he continued, his voice gruff, for he was feeling irritatingly sentimental, "Sleeping pills, so you don't have to deal with hypos."

Jim grinned halfheartedly at that, murmuring, "That'd be great..." McCoy filled out the prescription in silence, then said,

"It should be ready for you in an hour. It'll be delivered to your personal items box."

Jim nodded slowly, then stood. It was getting late, and he needed to eat, and shower – not that he really wanted to do either.

"Jim," the doctor said as he began to walk towards the door, "I know that as your therapist and physician you're supposed to make appointments to see me – but as your friend, you come by whenever you want, you hear? Whenever you need to talk, I'll listen."

Jim and McCoy stared at each other a moment, their expressions thoughtful and somber, then slowly Jim nodded.

"Thanks, Bones," he said softly, and with that he turned and stepped out the door. For a long while, McCoy continued to stare tiredly at the door of his office, then settled back into his chair with a sigh. All this damn paperwork had to get done eventually.

* * *

It was approaching two o'clock. Silently Spock stood up in the near-empty hall. He had left the place only once, and very briefly, to obtain a small amount of food across the street. He had then promptly returned to the concert hall, inexplicably drawn towards the sound of the Terran piano. He found it relaxing in a way separate from meditation, in a way he had not experienced in a long time – if ever. He did not know the reasoning behind it, but he decided to meditate on it at a later time and enjoy the music for now.

But it was time for him to return to the embassy and so he stepped begrudgingly out of the music hall.

As he walked his thoughts traveled once more to his upcoming meeting with the girl – T'Lyra. He knew he would do all he could to assist her and her family, but the question was whether or not he would find it pleasant to do so. Although he knew it to be an insignificant aspect to the situation, he hoped he would be able to get along with the child – with T'Lyra. His experience with children was minimal at best, but Vulcan children were a different matter. Although, he supposed, if he could deal with humans, surely he would find Vulcan children agreeable. It would only be logical.

Quickly, though, he banished the thoughts of humans from his mind. He was nearing the embassy now, and he could see Solap standing by the imposing glass doors. He quickened his pace and approached him.

"I apologize for my tardiness," he said, and the older Vulcan replied,

"It is inconsequential. Let us be off." He gestured towards the hovercar parked near them, and stepped towards the driver's door. Spock felt some shame for illogically assuming there would be a chauffeur – growing up, there had always been one for his family, and so he had to often remind himself that the average citizen had to drive themselves.

Spock entered the hovercar and sat down in the back seat. Silently they lifted off the ground and drove away. The drive was not an excessively long one, and in six minutes and thirty-three seconds, the school came into sight.

To Spock, it seemed nothing had changed since his own childhood. After dismissal, the children would line up outside the school in straight lines, organized by grade level, and in alphabetical order. Such a line appeared to be found at the front of this school. As they approached, all of the visible children seemed to be very young – their restless shifting affirmed this idea, as well. Solap drove beyond this line and around to the other side of the school where another line was formed, this one with older-looking children who did not stir. The hovercar descended towards the end of the line that was closest, and a girl stepped forward, weaving through the multitude of other parked hovercars in the street.

The girl opened the back door of the hovercar and she glanced at Spock in mild surprise, but otherwise did not acknowledge him as she entered the car.

"Hello, Father," she said as she settled into her seat, her voice very soft, very timid.

"T'Lyra," Solap said, looking back at her from the front seat, "This is Mr. Spock. He is the man we told you about."

T'Lyra looked at him, studying him, and Spock peered back at her calmly.

The first thing he noticed were her eyes. They were a bright, brilliant green, and entirely, unmistakeably human. Vulcans were genetically incapable of having green eyes, and hers were excessively noticeable. Other than her eyes, though, she appeared to be a normal Vulcan child. She had jet black hair that fell smoothly to the middle of her back, with bangs cut straight across, hovering over her upswept eyebrows. The corners of her pointed ears were faintly visible beneath her curtain of hair.

"Greetings, Mr. Spock," she said after three point eight seconds had elapsed. Spock nodded once in acknowledgment.

"Greetings, T'Lyra," he replied, and without missing a beat, the girl turned her gaze back to her father and said,

"Are we not going to visit mother?"

"Yes," Solap replied, "But first you are to become acquainted with Mr. Spock while I transport him to his residence." T'Lyra blinked once, the corners of her mouth twitching, and she glanced out the window. The hovercar began to move again, and when they were at the proper altitude, she looked back to Spock and said,

"Since we must become acquainted, please tell me about yourself."

"My name is Spock," he replied, unfazed, "I am twenty-seven Standard years of age. I studied the sciences at Starfleet Academy and served as a professor there for approximately five years."

"Why not the Vulcan Science Academy?" the girl asked.

"I found Starfleet to be better suited to my tastes," Spock replied dryly, remembering with a grim sort of humor the day he had turned them down.

T'Lyra was silent for a moment, pondering the meaning of his words. Finally she asked,

"Do you enjoy being around humans?"

"T'Lyra," Solap said sharply, warningly. Although the question itself was innocent enough, such inquiries into one's personal life, one's thoughts and feelings, were considered, to Vulcans, to be grossly inappropriate. T'Lyra quickly looked back out the window, her hair falling about her face with the motion to perfectly hide her features.

Instantly Spock knew why she was bullied. She was not only a hybrid, but a hybrid with clumsy emotional control. Children would be especially disapproving of such a quality, and would be quick to harass her about it. He pondered how to best handle the situation. He leaned slightly closer to the girl and said in a low voice,

"On the contrary, I found humans to be most fascinatingly illogical. They are very peculiar creatures – of course, I was somewhat accustomed to their behavior even before Starfleet so I found my experience to be tolerable. I presume you can sympathize with me?"

T'Lyra looked back at him, her mouth twitching in a poorly repressed smile. At least she was not upset – he had feared his small joke might backfire, but thankfully she had found it amusing. After a moment she said softly,

"Since you have enlightened me about yourself, would you like to know about me?"

"That would be most agreeable." Her mouth twitched again and she replied,

"My name is T'Lyra and I am eleven years, three months, and twenty-four Standard days old. I attend Mount Seleya Primary School and I wish to attend the Vulcan University of Music when I am of age."

"Indeed?" Spock said, raising an eyebrow, "What musical instrument do you play?" T'Lyra looked away shyly and she said,

"I am learning the ka'athyra and this year I have begun to practice singing."

"That is most fascinating," he replied, "I play the ka'athyra as well. Perhaps we can practice together."

The girl's brilliant green eyes lit up in excitement, but her tone remained forcedly even as she replied,

"I would find that most acceptable." Spock nodded once, feeling quite pleased with himself. He was fairly certain he would find child-minding bearable if T'Lyra was as agreeable as she appeared – and perhaps he could assist her in her emotional control, as well, which he was sure she would also agree to.

"You are living with your father, correct?" Solap interjected from the front of the hovercar.

"Yes," he replied. The older Vulcan nodded once, and said no more.

Shortly after, they arrived at his father's estate. The hovercar landed down gently, and Spock turned to T'Lyra.

"It was very pleasant to make your acquaintance," he said, allowing himself a very slight smile. She nodded quickly twice.

"I hope to see you again," she said faintly, shyly, as he opened the hovercar door.

"Of course," he replied simply, and he exited the car. Solap exited quickly after him with a murmur to T'Lyra that Spock did not quite catch, and he closed the door before turning to Spock.

"Have you made your decision?" he asked, sounding illogically anxious.

"Yes," he replied, "I would be pleased to assist your family. T'Lyra seems to be... a very agreeable child. I am sure we will be able to get along." Solap breathed a sigh of visible relief.

"We are very much indebted to you," he said, "I do not know how we can repay you, but we will."

"Payment is not necessary," Spock said quickly, "I am aware of your predicament, and I am perfectly content to act as a child-minder without charge. It is not necessary." Slowly Solap nodded.

"Well, certainly we will do something for you," he repeated, "Thank you." Spock nodded, and Solap returned to his hovercar.

"Goodbye," he said as he opened the door.

"Goodbye," he replied. The hovercar door closed and the vehicle began to lift off the ground as it turned in the air. Spock could see T'Lyra in the window, and she caught his gaze and waved goodbye. Amusement bubbled in his chest as he offered the ta'al in return, and the hovercar surged away, leaving the air in its path shimmering with heat.

Spock turned and strode into his father's estate, feeling much more content and at ease than he had felt in his entire stay on New Vulcan. Perhaps some good would come of the situation after all.

* * *

**A/N:** Thanks for reading! The next chapter will be up on Monday.


	10. The Garden of Eden

**A/N:** Hello again all you wonderful people! Another big thank-you to those who reviewed ^^ I really appreciate all your feedback immensely!

Chapter ten! We're halfway through! ;]

This chapter's title is obviously a Biblical allusion. The garden of Eden is a place of paradise, as many of you are aware of, I'm sure. But, if you recall correctly, it's also the location of the fall of mankind - hmm, I wonder what that could foreshadow! ;] Hahaha I'm a tease I know, sorry!

As always, comments and critiques are welcomed! Please enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Ten: The Garden of Eden

"Your analysis, Lieutenant Nakamura?"

"According to these readings, sir, it appears this planet is unable to sustain carbon-based life-forms."

"Which is why we didn't pick up any life-signs on the planet, in spite of accounts of life being found here previously."

"That's the best explanation for it, sir."

Jim leaned back in his chair, pondering the situation. They had been sent here to determine if this lonely little planet was suitable to colonize. But if there were no carbon-based life forms... That was a shock. Of all species from every discovered planet, never had there been any documented cases of a life form based on anything but carbon. While this planet was now unlikely to be of any use to colonists, this was quite a significant scientific discovery.

Which pulled his thoughts to his new science officer. Lieutenant Nakamura was, so far, performing excellently. McCoy had been correct in his implications of her superior intelligence. She analyzed and extrapolated information quickly and her degrees in both physics and chemistry were obviously not just for show.

But while she was impressive, she was a far cry from a Vulcan. She was more than competent at her job – most captains would have killed to have her, seeing as she was young, intelligent, and decidedly beautiful with light olive-tan skin and long raven hair – but Jim would have traded her for – for Spock, in a heartbeat.

But he forced himself not to dwell on this and he said,

"Start running some scans to figure out what these life forms _are_ based on, then. Uhura, open a channel directly to Starfleet. I'm pretty sure they'll want to know about this."

"Yes, sir," came the two feminine replies, and he turned his attention to the helm.

"Sulu, Chekov, maintain standard orbit around the planet. Cut to minimum impulse power – we may be here a while."

"Yes, sir," replied Sulu, as Chekov leaned towards him and murmured,

"Non-carbon based life forms! Can you beliewe it, Hikaru? I vould newer hawe thought that is possible!" Sulu chuckled and nodded, simply responding with,

"Pretty amazing," and Jim shifted his attention elsewhere. The planet was visible on the main viewscreen and he stared at it for a while. It was fairly small, mostly green and brown with some small blue patches, and pinky-white clouds spread across the surface in thin layers.

"The channel is open, sir," said Uhura.

"On the viewscreen, please, Lieutenant," he replied, and in a moment the image of the planet flashed away and was replaced with the grizzled face of an Admiral whose name he could not quite remember.

"I see you have urgent news, Captain Kirk," said the Admiral.

"Yes, sir," Jim agreed, nodding once, "While on a routine exploratory mission to the uninhabited planet Janus VI, my crew has discovered that the planet is unable to sustain life for carbon-based life forms. However..." He paused thoughtfully and the Admiral looked at him expectantly. "However, previous encounters on this planet, in addition to some other current scans, show that there _is_ primitive life on this planet, suggesting the presence of a life form based on an element other than carbon."

The admiral's eyebrows shot up and for a moment he looked positively incredulous before replying,

"Well, that certainly _would_ be quite an important discovery." Jim barely suppressed a grin at the older man's understatement.

"I figured as much, sir," he replied in amusement, and the admiral continued,

"I'm going to connect you with our science department right now. Whatever scan results you have, have your communications officer send them over – and any other scans you do, send those results, too."

"On it, sir," Uhura murmured before he had to say anything. Jim nodded.

"We're maintaining standard orbit around the planet," he said, "We'll be here for a while, and we'll send over every scan result we get as soon as possible. Contact us if necessary. Kirk out."

He cut the connection, the screen flashing back to the small green planet. A small sense of wonder filled him as he peered at it, and he said to no one in particular,

"This is pretty amazing."

The crew chuckled and murmured in agreement and at that moment, Jim was struck with a sudden longing for his former First Officer.

If Spock were there he surely would have made some comment about how "fascinating" the situation was, would state the astronomical odds of there being an alternate life form that the crew would marvel at, and would immediately start rattling off all the possibilities of what element these life forms were based on, all with a straight face but a glint in his eye that would betray his excitement and awe. Jim could see it excruciatingly clearly in his mind's eye, but reality cut in as Nakamura – his real Science Officer, now – said softly,

"Agreed, sir – this is quite a... _humbling_ experience."

He forced himself to smile in response and he replied,

"Any hypotheses on the nature of these life forms, Lieutenant?" She looked faintly flustered as she replied,

"I'm still working on it, sir..." She turned back to her controls and Jim looked away. He needed to focus – he could miss Spock all he wanted later, but not now. He forced his mind to move elsewhere and he said,

"Uhura, have you sent the files?"

"About half of them had gone through, sir," she replied, her gaze fixed on her screens. He nodded – there wasn't much left to do now but twiddle his thumbs as tests were run and results were sent to Starfleet.

And in spite of himself, he found himself thinking of Spock again. But this time he did not fight it. It was no use.

* * *

At two o'clock in the afternoon, Spock was walking down the sidewalk across the street from the line of children at the primary school. He approached the area he recalled T'Lyra to be standing at, and when he spotted her, he crossed the street. She spotted him and left the line of students to join him.

"Greetings," he said as they began to walk.

"Hello," she replied simply, then glanced around and asked, "No hovercar?"

"No, I do not own one, unfortunately," he replied, "But I assumed walking would be acceptable. It is not a great distance to your home." The girl nodded slowly and said,

"Yes. I have walked home before. Do you know the way?"

"Somewhat," he said wryly, "However, I will likely require your guidance at some point." T'Lyra's lips twitched in a flash of a smile and she quickened her pace slightly, swinging her school bag slightly as she did.

A normal Vulcan child would not behave in such a way, but Spock made no comment. He would speak to her at a more appropriate time.

It took twelve minutes and seventeen seconds to walk to T'Lyra's home. Theirs was a typical Vulcan house, a simple square shape made of gray stone with red bricks for detailing. The girl stood on tiptoe to reach the retinal scanner, which then scanned her eye, made a faint beeping sound, and the lock on the door clicked off. They stepped inside, removed their shoes by the door, and T'Lyra set her school bag down next to her black shoes and said,

"I am going to change into more casual attire. You are welcome to view the house, and the sitting area is through the hallway to your left."

"Thank you," Spock replied simply as T'Lyra hurried down the hallway to the right, where he assumed the private rooms to be. He stepped down the left hallway, taking in the decorations of the house. There were many holos on the walls of the hallway, which was unusual for a Vulcan home – but perfectly normal for a human one, he realized. They were all family pictures, some of Solap standing next to a human woman with dusty blond hair and bright green eyes – a trait that must have been selectively passed down to T'Lyra (he knew firsthand that Vulcan-Terran hybrids could not be carried to term naturally – he would have had two older siblings if it were not for this fact). He found it very illogical to pass down such an eye color if the couple had been intending to reside on Vulcan – but he supposed some things were unforeseeable.

Some other holos were of the family of three, ranging from the mother holding an infant in blankets to a holo that looked quite recent, and Spock approximated it to be between six and nine months old.

He then entered the living area and was mildly surprised at the very human appearance of it. It was not as clean and uncluttered as a Vulcan room would be, and while it was by no means messy, there were many items set out for purely decorational purposes that no logic-abiding Vulcan would own or keep in the open. There was an end table with a vase of white flowers, several other potted plants around the room, and a shelf sporting what appeared to be a collection of porcelain dolls.

There were five dolls on the shelves, all depicting humans in various styles of clothing. One was dressed in robes with a shepherd's crook in one hand, and it was displayed slightly more prominently than the others, in the center of the shelf, closer to the edge than the other four, two on either side.

He observed these for a moment and came to the conclusion that the human wife of Solap must have been given nearly free reign of the appearance of the interior of the house. There were a few Vulcan touches here and there – paintings on the walls by recognizable Vulcan artists, framed glyphs of Vulcan words, incense burners on a shelf that contained several rolled-up meditation mats. But other than those, if Spock had not known better he would have thought he had stepped into an average human family's Terran home.

It was then that T'Lyra arrived in the room, dressed now in a plain light gray children's robe that fell to just below her knees and left her forearms bare. She walked to his side as he looked back at the porcelain dolls and said,

"They belong to my mother. She had a very large collection of them when she lived on Earth. She told me that these are her five most special ones, because she had to give the rest away when she moved to Vulcan with my father."

"How did they survive to New Vulcan?" Spock asked, honestly intrigued – porcelain was a very fragile Terran material. T'Lyra's gaze fell to the stone tile.

"We were living on Betazed when it happened," she murmured softly, "We had been living there for one year, ten months and twenty-eight days. Father was working for the Vulcan ambassador to Betazed. But when the – the disaster happened, everyone moved here to New Vulcan as soon as the colony was announced."

Spock nodded slowly.

"It is most fascinating that they have remained intact. Porcelain generally cannot stand up to the intense pressure of space travel."

"One of them broke, once," T'Lyra mused, "Mother spent an entire day gluing it back together."

"That is... fascinating."

"Father said it was very illogical of her but she persisted in her efforts. I believe it made her sad to see it broken. It was that one on the far right, with the multicolored robe."

Slowly Spock nodded. She seemed to be quite observant, very astute, in spite of her other non-Vulcan mannerisms.

They stood in silence for thirty-two seconds, then T'Lyra looked up at Spock and said,

"Normally I would begin on my assigned homework at this time."

"Will you require any assistance?" Spock inquired.

"Possibly," she replied simply, and he nodded.

"May I sit?" He gestured towards the couch and her features flickered in a brief smile.

"That would be its intended purpose," she replied, amusement heavy in her tone. He fought off a smirk and sat down slowly. T'Lyra sat down in a chair across from him, a table separating them, with her school bag at her feet. She pulled a PADD out from the dark folds of cloth and silently began working.

Spock closed his eyes, entering a very light meditative state.

After seven minutes and forty seconds, T'Lyra said softly,

"I require some assistance with this problem." He opened his eyes.

"What kind of problem?" he asked as he reached for the PADD she held out to him.

"It is mathematics," she replied. He scanned over the problems – basic algebra. He leaned over the table and explained each step to her, recalling with a hint of fondness his days as a professor at Starfleet. He had not realized how much he enjoyed teaching, but guiding T'Lyra until she could successfully solve each problem was quite satisfying. It appeared to be pleasing for her as well – she nearly smiled when he nodded approvingly at her efforts.

It took one hour, seven minutes, and eighteen seconds to complete her homework. When she had finished, she carefully placed the PADD back in her school bag, and then leaned back in her seat, looking across at Spock.

"What now?" she asked simply.

"What would you like to do?" he inquired in response.

"Well," she said shyly,"You said we could practice ka'athyra."

"Indeed I did," Spock replied wryly, "Where may we practice?"

T'Lyra stood up quickly. "In the music room," she said, making a faint gesture with her head for him to follow her. He stood, an eyebrow quirking in surprise.

"A music room?" he repeated almost disbelievingly as they went through an arched doorway on the opposite end of the room.

They entered the room and Spock stopped in his tracks, exceedingly surprised at the scene before him.

The first thing to catch his attention was the grand piano occupying the corner of the room, a glazed black color with gold and red lettering. He would never have expected to see such a thing in an average citizen's home – they were generally found in professional music halls, not to mention its foreign quality of being from Earth.

T'Lyra watched his reaction guardedly, then said faintly, "My mother was a professional musician on Earth. Piano was her primary instrument. That is why we have a music room."

"...I see," Spock said slowly, finally bringing himself to look around the rest of the room. Large windows allowed for the room to be filled with light, reflecting off the glazed and polished finishes of not only the dominating piano but of the assortment of other musical instruments as well. He recognized several Earth instruments, a few that he was certain were from other exotic planets (he could not ascertain what they were nor how they were supposed to be used), and many Vulcan instruments, both traditional and modern. In the far corner of the room were three ka'athyra – two regular models of differing colors, and one child-sized lute of a plain, grayish-brown finish.

T'Lyra headed for that corner, and after a moment of getting over his initial shock, Spock followed her.

"This one is mine," she said, picking up the child-sized lute. "The yellower one is Mother's, but the reddish one is meant to be mine for when I am bigger. You may use that one."

"Are you certain?" Spock asked, feeling slightly apprehensive. T'Lyra's eyes glinted as she suppressed a smile and she pulled another chair over, replying,

"Yes."

Spock only hesitated a moment longer, then reached for the ka'athyra and seated himself beside T'Lyra.

It was not until the ka'athyra strings were singing beneath his fingertips that he realized just how much he had missed it – missed playing the lute, missed making music, for the last time he had played ka'athyra was three months and seventeen days before the Narada incident. He found the music now to be highly relaxing, the way it had been the day before in the music hall, keeping his mind occupied with the mathematical beauty of it.

They settled into a routine this way. Spock would retrieve T'Lyra from school, they would walk to her house, he would assist her in completing her homework, and they would then play music together, often until T'Lyra's father came home. Some days, when the heat was milder, they would sit out in the garden to work and play music. Some days he took her on excursions to nearby locations, ranging from simple walks to the nearby store to purchase her favorite sweets to a trip to the music hall he had found near the embassy, all of which obviously delighted her in spite of her attempts at control. Sometimes when she slipped he would point it out to her, guide her – but sometimes those trickles of emotion were far too endearing for him to admonish. They shared all sorts of knowledge with each other – he told her stories of his brief time traversing the galaxy, which she found most interesting, and in turn she educated him on all sorts of childish, feminine things he really had no use for but listened attentively to anyway. One afternoon they spent an entire two hours sitting out in the garden as she attempted to teach him some peculiar human aesthetic practice of "braiding hair", which he found exceedingly illogical and useless – he would never encounter a situation in which being able to braid a female's hair would be necessary – but she insisted that it was important and so he worked diligently with her until she deemed his braids acceptable.

He found solace in the girl. For those four hours each day, he was too preoccupied with her to think about the demons eating away at him from the inside, and for that he was illogically and unfathomably grateful.

* * *

**A/N:** Thanks for reading! Next chapter will be up on Wednesday.


	11. The Fame Monster

**A/N:** Hey everyone! Thank you to every wonderful reviewer! :]

This chapter title comes from none other than Lady Gaga's most recent album, The Fame Monster. I felt the phrase itself fits pretty well with this chapter, haha x]

As always, comments and critiques are appreciated beyond measure! ^^ Please enjoy!

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Chapter Eleven: The Fame Monster

"Spock," said T'Lyra one afternoon (they had long since been on a first name familiarity), "Look at this article my teacher assigned for reading. I think you will find it most fascinating."

Spock reached for the PADD in silent acceptance, careful to avoid brushing against the girl's fingers. Such an incident had occurred once, near the beginning of their acquaintance, and Spock had felt a near-overwhelming burst of surprise and embarrassment from T'Lyra when their fingers touched (and as he had had no mental shield in place when their accidental contact occurred, he was fairly sure she had felt the same from him). Since then he had been careful to avoid coming into contact with her – she, however, seemed not to be aware of when their fingers came near or when her shoulder was dangerously close to brushing against his arm. He was also working on this with her.

But he carefully took the PADD from her small hands and viewed the article she had pulled up. He raised an eyebrow in surprise at the title.

"'Silicon-based life form found on Janus VI,'" he read aloud almost incredulously, "This is indeed... fascinating."

T'Lyra smiled, but quickly schooled her features back into a semblance of Vulcan stoicism at a quick glance from Spock.

"Read all of it," she urged, and he complied without protest.

"_Noncivilized life forms have previously been found on the small planet Janus VI,_" the article read, "_However, these life forms this week were discovered to be non-carbon based when life scanners did not detect any life signs on the planet's surface. It has now been confirmed that these life forms, dubbed the Horta, are silicon-based, marking the first instance in all of recorded Federation history and scientific logs of a life form based on an element other than carbon. This groundbreaking discovery was made by the crew of the _USS Enterprise _under the young hero, Captain James T. Kirk – _"

Spock stopped breathing. He was suddenly aware of his heart pounding against his ribs and for seven seconds he could not tear his gaze away from the name on the screen. When he did, he scrolled down the page only to be presented with a picture of the commend crew of the _Enterprise_ and his heart fluttered once more.

Uhura, Chekov, Sulu – and standing in the middle was the captain himself. Next to him was a small Asian woman whom he recognized as Lieutenant Nakamura, who must have been the new Science Officer, and behind her was an older man with dark hair sprinkled with gray whom he knew to be Commander Winters, who was likely the new First Officer.

He looked back to the image of Jim in spite of himself. There was a slight smile on his face, but it was a weary and dull smile and there was a tightness about his eyes Spock had never seen before.

He was unhappy. And Spock knew it was entirely his fault.

Promptly he set down the PADD, suddenly feeling nauseous. He forced it down – he could not let himself fall apart in front of T'Lyra – but his body trembled once violently. T'Lyra frowned.

"What is the matter?" she asked quickly, taking back to PADD, "You are... distraught. What is wrong?"

"Nothing," Spock forced himself to say, taking in a heavy, unsteady breath. T'Lyra, however, only looked upon him with more concern.

"I'm sorry," she said quickly, "I knew you were on the _Enterprise_ – so I thought – I just – please forgive me..." Her face crumpled in sadness and he shook his head in protest.

"It is no fault of yours," he said distractedly.

"I should not have shown it to you," she replied miserably.

"You did not know," he insisted, forcing himself to focus, "And furthermore, I would have seen it at some point whether you had shown me or not. It is a major scientific discovery." Slowly T'Lyra nodded, unable to meet his gaze. Finally she murmured,

"I am sorry."

"You are forgiven," he replied. He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, calming himself, before he continued, "You must complete your homework." Hesitantly T'Lyra propped her PADD up again, and after a moment her focus returned to her work.

Spock fought down the nausea bubbling in his stomach, forcing his mind away from the near-hysteria grappling at the edge of his consciousness. He could not let himself slip in front of T'Lyra – _he could not _– otherwise all of his attempts at aiding her control would have been in vain – how could she trust him as a teacher if he had an emotional breakdown in front of her – if he acted out the very behaviors he was telling her to cease – ?

It took him a few moments, but finally he managed to push all thoughts of James Tiberius Kirk out of his mind, all of the emotions associated with him out of his heart.

After seventeen minutes and twelve seconds, T'Lyra set down her PADD and murmured softly,

"I am done."

"Good," Spock replied hoarsely. He cleared his throat self-consciously and continued, "Are you ready for ka'athyra practice?"

"I have no desire to play ka'athyra today," the girl said faintly. Spock quirked an eyebrow at her uncharacteristic response but simply replied,

"How would you rather spend our remaining time?"

T'Lyra was silent for twenty-two seconds, her gaze affixed on the red tile of the floor beneath them, then she blurted,

"Why did the article upset you so?" Spock stiffened and replied in clipped tones,

"Inquiries of such a personal nature are considered very rude, T'Lyra."

"But we are friends," she protested, upswept brows furrowing over bright green eyes, "...are we not?"

Spock could not bring himself to feel angry or irritated with her. For twelve seconds he was silent, then he stood quickly and said,

"Let us sit outside for a while."

Uncertainly T'Lyra stood up and followed him out to the garden. They had been out to the garden several times before, and it reminded Spock of the garden of his childhood home, for it was full of colorful Earth flowers. Human women must all be strikingly similar, he had long since decided.

They sat down in the black stone chairs placed throughout the garden. T'Lyra stared at Spock as he gazed out at the pale blue sky, gathering his thoughts. They sat this way for two minutes and nine seconds, then Spock began slowly,

"You are aware I served on the USS _Enterprise._"

"Yes," T'Lyra said quickly, "Which is why I thought you would enjoy the article – I thought – "

"T'Lyra," he said, cutting her off and she fell silent. He sucked in a deep breath before continuing, "You are aware of this. However, what you, and very many others, are not aware of is why I left the _Enterprise_."

"Why?" she said faintly.

"I left because – because the Captain and I – had irreconcilable differences – so he sent me off the ship."

"What a terrible man," T'Lyra murmured, brows furrowing.

"No," Spock said sternly, "You must not think that. It was – my fault he could no longer tolerate my presence. His reaction was... logical." T'Lyra frowned openly in obvious incomprehension.

"What happened?" she asked. He looked away uncomfortably.

"I cannot say," he said simply. T'Lyra again frowned slightly but did not press the matter any further.

"And that's why it made you upset?" she said. Slowly he nodded.

"...Yes," he said faintly, "Thoughts of the _Enterprise_ are... decidedly unpleasant."

"I won't mention it again," T'Lyra resolved, then corrected her lapse in grammar hurriedly, "I will not."

"Do not trouble yourself with it," Spock said softly.

"I am very sorry," T'Lyra repeated earnestly.

"I know," Spock replied, "I know."

* * *

"Thank God all these interviews are done," Jim sighed, collapsing into a chair across from McCoy. The doctor glanced at him, his nose in a PADD, and gave a little half-laugh of agreement but said nothing.

"I'm exhausted," the younger man continued, stretching his arms, the butter yellow fabric of his tunic lifting with the motion to expose a sliver of golden-tan skin that McCoy pointedly ignored. "This week has been insane."

"I would think you have plenty of experience with publicity after you, you know, saved the damn Earth," McCoy said dryly, looking back to his PADD. Jim grinned unabashedly, lounging about in the chair.

"Yeah, well. It gets old after a while."

"Oh, shut up, I know you love it, you attention-whore."

"You're just cranky you weren't mentioned in any articles," Jim snorted. McCoy rolled his eyes and, again, turned his attention back to the PADD on his desk.

For a long while Jim was silent, the only noise in the office coming from the doctor tapping at the screen. He stared at the clean white wall, his thoughts roiling, until finally he looked back at McCoy and murmured,

"I just wish Spock could have been here for this. He would've been so thrilled – "

"Dammit, Jim," the doctor growled, cutting him off as he nearly slammed down his PADD, "You gotta stop thinking about him all the damn time."

"It's not interfering with my professional life," the younger man said defensively, "So I don't have to – "

"You're right, your professional life is peachy," McCoy grumbled, glaring Jim into silence, "But your personal life is in shambles, and you know it. You're gonna be a mental wreck if you keep thinking about him."

"It's not that simple," Jim snapped in reply, his voice rising, "You of all people ought to know you can't just stop thinking about someone who was important to you!"

McCoy took the outburst in stride, not even flinching at the sting of unpleasant memories Jim's comment brought on.

"I think I know what you need," the doctor said.

"Yeah? And what's your prescription now?" he retorted irritably.

"Some Romulan ale to keep your mind elsewhere, that's what." Jim's jaw dropped.

"How the hell do you – jesus, Bones, that's some heavy illegal shit!"

"Really?" McCoy replied dryly as he unlocked a small cabinet behind his desk and brought forth a near-full bottle of the bright blue liquid. Jim let out a strangled laugh and shook his head in disbelief.

"I can't believe this. How – no, never mind, I don't want to know."

"Cheers," McCoy grumbled, handing him a full shot glass. Jim gave another faint laugh, then brought the glass to his mouth and downed the shot in one heaving gulp.

After five shots, Jim was drunk off his ass and McCoy put the scandalous beverage back into its hiding place. He heaved the delirious captain to his feet and down to a private bed – no way in hell he was parading him down the corridors for all the crew to see just to get him to his quarters, not in the state he was in – and Jim collapsed onto the biobed in a mess of limbs.

"Bones," he groaned, his words slurred as he fumbled about aimlessly with one hand, "I'm bleeding, Bones."

"No, you're not, Jim," McCoy sighed, throwing a blanket over his restlessly shifting form.

"Yes," Jim insisted, "I'm bleeding. In my heart. There's a huge nasty fucking hole in my heart and it's bleeding."

McCoy glanced sharply at him, his words tugging at his own heart. He sighed and tucked the blanket more firmly around Jim.

"Just sleep," he said, his voice soft, "You'll feel better after you've slept."

"Promise?"

"Yeah."

"No more bleeding?"

"No. I'm a doctor, remember?"

"Yeah. A doctor," Jim mumbled groggily, "A doctor, not an escalator or... a physicist or a... a moon shuttle conductor..." His vague murmurs trailed off as he slipped into unconsciousness.

Again McCoy sighed, unable to wrench his gaze away from the man before him, the patient he knew he could never heal. It was a long while before he could bring himself to turn away from his sleeping form to stumble back into his office. Sometimes he wondered if he was hurting as bad as Jim, because sometimes it sure as hell felt like it.

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**A/N:** Thanks for reading! Next chapter will be up on Friday!


	12. Til I Hear You Sing

**A/N:** Aaaand we're back! ^^ Thanks to everyone who reviewed! I loveee you all! 3

This chapter's title comes from the song _"Til I Hear You Sing"_ from the musical **Love Never Dies**, which is the Broadway sequel to **Phantom of the Opera**. It's a beautiful, beautiful song - Ramin Karimloo sings like a freaking god - so even if you have no interest in Phantom I would still recommend listening to it. :]

I think it is worth mentioning that there is a possibility of me getting a "job" (in quotation marks because it's really volunteering but at this point I'm taking what I can get hahaha) in the next few days which means I** may or may not** be able to continue my normally scheduled updating. Dx Of course, this does not mean I won't be updating often, it just means my updating may be a little less regular than it has been. Hopefully this will not be the case but if it does come to that I'm very, very sorry and I hope you all understand. ^^;

Okay! As always, comments and critiques are more than welcome! Please enjoy! :]

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Chapter Twelve: Til I Hear You Sing

As the weeks crawled by, Jim's nightly visits to McCoy's office became less and less of therapy sessions and more and more of them sharing a couple drinks (or, on bad days, sometimes more than a couple). About half the time Jim ended up sleeping in the same private biobed, which had practically become his own. McCoy was seriously considering just carving Jim's name into the headboard.

To be honest, McCoy didn't mind too much. At first he had been rather concerned, but then Jim had pointed out how much the doctor had drank in their first year of friendship, in the wake of his failed marriage and scathing divorce. After that McCoy had kept his mouth shut – he had no room to judge. Most of the drinks they shared were synthehol anyways, so he couldn't hold potential liver damage over the captain's head, and he was still holding his professional life, as he was wont to call it, together pretty snugly. So McCoy was no longer bothered by his drinking.

Life on the _Enterprise_ continued on in largely the same manner. For Jim, the days all bled together into one continuous blur – after all, most days were spent waking up, showering, eating, sitting in the command chair for twelve hours while saying "steady as she goes" every once in a while, eating, filling out paperwork for mundane tasks and status reports, taking some sleeping meds, and repeat. He was not working out at the gym as often as he used to – but he was eating less so it was alright, he figured.

He would go on away missions every chance they arose, just to alleviate the boredom, just to _feel_ something, even if it was just a simple diplomatic mission or a delivery job.

But then he was in an away mission gone wrong, a skirmish with a colony that had been invaded by Klingons, and had broken a rib and suffered major phaser burns on his left hand. McCoy had fixed him up good as new, but as he sat with his arm under the dermal regenerator the doctor had given him a stern lecture that ended with,

"No more away missions for you, young man."

"Are you serious, Bones?" Jim groaned.

"Serious as a heart attack. Besides, captains aren't meant to go on away missions to begin with! Right stubborn as an ass, and dumb as one, too..."

No amount of pleading got him out of that one and he stopped going on away missions.

"I hate this job, Bones," he slurred one night nearly a month later, "No diff'ren than some fuckin' desk job back planetside..."

"Then you need to start doing something more than mope around all day," McCoy grumbled, "Here. I'll set up weekly dinners with the command crew. You could use some socializing."

Jim could not remember agreeing to the idea when McCoy informed him of it the next day, but sure enough, that Saturday evening the doctor dragged him to a private observatory room where the command crew was gathered. They greeted the captain hesitantly – he had become more than a little distant these past few months – but the food was good and so were the drinks, and Jim found himself able to keep up with the conversation just by nodding and laughing at intervals, which was manageable. Sulu and Chekov were definitely together, which he unsurprisingly had not noticed before – vaguely he wondered if Chekov had turned eighteen yet, then decided he probably had by now, then decided he didn't want to know.

"See, that wasn't so bad," the doctor said after everyone had shuffled off to bed and they were the only ones remaining in the observatory.

"Are you and Uhura dating?" Jim asked in reply. McCoy rolled his eyes huffily.

"No, Jim – you should be asking _Scotty_ that," he said dryly, "I think it's past your bedtime."

As time wore on, it became easier and easier for Jim to relax around the command crew. After a couple of diners he was easily keeping up with conversation amongst the team, even Lieutenant Nakamura and the First Officer, a man named Winters with slightly graying dark hair, who was the oldest of the command crew at a whopping forty-two.

He had not mentioned Spock in a while. He was getting along better with the crew. And if he drank a little much, well, it was a phase, a coping mechanism. Overall, McCoy was pleased with his progress, beginning to believe that there was hope for his friend after all.

One afternoon Jim called him up to the bridge about an hour after lunch.

"My back is killing me," he groaned into the commlink, "Can you please just bring me a painkiller real quick?"

"Giant man-baby," the doctor grumbled, "Yeah, yeah, I'll be there in a minute."

He mixed a hypo for the younger man – the only painkiller that he wasn't allergic to was not normally on hand which meant the doctor was left having to make it himself half the time, which wasn't difficult but sure was a pain in the ass. He prepared the hypo then headed to the bridge – Chapel was busy and would likely be more pissed at him for interrupting her than for sneaking out of Sickbay for a few minutes, and as for the team of wet-behind-the-ears nurses on duty – well, he hardly trusted _them_ with a bloody nose.

He stepped onto the bridge and towards Jim without preamble. A few crewmen glanced at him casually but otherwise he remained unacknowledged. Jim turned in his seat and grimaced at him.

"Quit makin' that ugly face at me and pull down your collar," McCoy grumbled, pulling the loaded hypo out from his medical pack.

"Nice to see you too, Bones," Jim retorted, pulling at his black collar to fully expose his throat.

"Take a deep breath, you'll be dizzy for a second," the doctor continued in a monotone, giving the same speech he always did when he found himself having to pump the other man full of painkillers. Before Jim could even reply "I know" the hypo hissed against the bare pulsing skin of his throat and he winced.

"Thanks," he said noncommittally, gingerly pulling his collar back into place while blinking heavily for a moment.

"Captain," Uhura interjected before the doctor could reply, "We are receiving a transmission from Starfleet headquarters, sir, a video message from Admiral Pike."

"Patch it through to the viewscreen," Jim replied, gesturing towards the screen with one hand as he settled back into the command chair. McCoy began placing his equipment back into his med pack as the screen flashed off of the spacescape and to the image of Pike's face peering into the camera.

"How's it going, Admiral," Jim said, smiling broadly at the older man, who smiled slightly in return, his eyes softening as he viewed the young captain who he had long ago taken under his wing.

"Captain Kirk," he replied in acknowledgment, "I have the honor of informing you of your next mission."

"Oh, wonderful," Jim chuckled, "Well, let's hear it." McCoy began to walk back to the turbolift.

"Well, it's a diplomatic mission, so nothing to wet your pants over," Pike retorted, "So, the, ah, _anniversary_, for lack of a better word, of the destruction of Vulcan is in two months. Your mission is to travel to the New Vulcan colony and represent Starfleet at the ceremony the Vulcans will be holding. They specifically requested your presence in honor of your heroics. They might ask you to give a speech or something, but as of right now all you'll have to do is be there."

McCoy stopped and quickly turned back to look at Jim. The younger man's smirk had faltered slightly, tension building on his forehead, along his eyes.

"Oh," he said simply, glancing away briefly, "All right. I'll, uh, I'll put that in the mission log and have someone contact New Vulcan to confirm that we're going."

"Good boy," Pike chuckled, oblivious to the changes in Jim's countenance that consumed McCoy's vision, "All right, then, I'll be going. Got a meeting in ten minutes I gotta get to. Pike out." Jim waved once distractedly before the screen went black, then leaned back slowly in his chair, his eyes downcast but his gaze unfocused.

"Shit," McCoy groaned under his breath, then quickly stepped back to the command chair and grabbed Jim by the shoulder. "Come with me," he said curtly, pulling him up out of the chair and forcefully dragging him over to the turbolift, ignoring the pointedly curious stares from the other crewmembers. The moment the turbolift doors closed, McCoy shut off the monitoring device with the command override code, turned Jim to face him, and hissed,

"Pull yourself together, man!"

"I'm fine," Jim snapped defensively, looking away from him, "I'm fine!"

"Dammit, Jim, I'm a doctor! Don't you lie to me!" he growled, "The moment that the word 'New Vulcan' came out of his mouth you looked like you'd been punched in the gut by a Klingon! You're not 'fine'!"

"Okay, okay," Jim groaned, "I'm not fine – there, you happy now?"

"Tell me what's wrong," McCoy continued forcefully, "Tell me exactly what you're feeling – and as your chief physician _and_ your therapist, that's an order!"

Jim sighed and shifted uncomfortably, looking pointedly away from the doctor. After a moment he seemed to come to terms with the fact that McCoy would not be letting him get out of this one any time soon, and he murmured faintly,

"I don't wanna do this mission."

McCoy wanted to laugh – that much was obvious – but instead he simply asked, "Why?"

"What if..." he began, then licked his lips, steeling himself, and said, "What if, when we go to New Vulcan... What if Spock's there? I don't think – I just – if Spock was there and I saw him I don't think I could handle it, Bones..."

McCoy sighed. He had hoped that that would not be the case, but it seemed that the damn half-breed hobgoblin was the root of every problem.

"There's no evidence to believe he went to New Vulcan," McCoy assured him, "And even if he did, what are the chances of him being there, of you seeing him? And it's not like you'd have to talk to him if he did."

"I don't want to see him," Jim whispered, putting a hand to his temple, "I don't even want to _think_ about seeing him."

"Then don't think about it," the doctor retorted gruffly.

"It's not that simple, god dammit!" Jim shouted, and McCoy stepped back from him in surprise. "I wish you would stop saying that all the damn time! You ought to know it's not that fucking simple!"

"All right, all right," he acquiesced, holding his hands up in exasperation.

"Just get back to Sickbay before I write you up for being away from your post," he growled, and with that, he wrenched the turbolift doors open and stormed back into the bridge. McCoy sighed as the doors closed behind him.

He hated that goddamn Vulcan.

"Sickbay," he said softly, and the turbolift whooshed to life, carrying him swiftly away from the captain and his troubles.

* * *

"I do not wish to practice the ka'athyra this afternoon," T'Lyra murmured as she set down her PADD.

Spock was mildly surprised. She had been uncharacteristically quiet and inanimate that particular afternoon, but he had thought little of it. Now, though, he suspected her to be troubled by something, which would explain her lack of conversation.

"All right," he said, "Is there anything else you wish to do?"

For twenty-three seconds T'Lyra was silent, her lips pressed tightly together in thought. Finnally she took in a heavy breath and said softly,

"Let us take a walk outside."

When they arrived outside, the humid heat prickling at their skin, T'Lyra hurried ahead of him down the garden walkway. She plucked a blue Earth flower from its stem and placed it in her hair, tucked behind her ear, as she often did when they ventured into the garden. She studied the plant for nine seconds as Spock observed her behavior, and then he said with some hesitation,

"Perhaps you would feel better if you spoke of your troubles." T'Lyra looked at him sharply and replied,

"That is illogical."

"But it is the truth," Spock replied simply, and T'Lyra looked away, her brows furrowed together in thought. Spock stepped closer to her; it was obvious something was wrong and he desired strongly to help her.

"My best friend at school told me today she no longer wishes to spend time with me," T'Lyra blurted quickly, her hands clasped together in anxiety, then added, "She wishes to no longer be my friend." Spock raised an eyebrow.

"Did she tell you the reasoning behind her decision?" he asked slowly, although he could already imagine what the answer would be.

"Yes," T'Lyra murmured, "...There is a boy named Zardek at school who... who makes constant attempts to elicit an emotional outburst from me, and often derides my... non-Vulcan lineage." She paused, her voice trembling. "He has... begun to target her as well, and she does not want to be harmed."

"He has physically harmed you?" Spock interjected, suddenly extremely concerned.

"He has attempted to twice, but never during school," she replied faintly, "But it has been enough to ward off my only friend." Lips trembling, she placed her little hands against her eyes, the blue flower in her hair quivering with the movement.

Spock watched her silently, his brows furrowed in despair. He could not bring himself to admonish her – she had every right to cry.

He did not know how to help. But he was going to try.

Slowly he stepped closer until he stood before her, then knelt down so that he was level with her small trembling figure.

"T'Lyra," he said softly, reaching out with one hand to touch her shoulder, covered in the slate-gray fabric of her robe. She lowered her hands hesitantly, her damp green eyes meeting his own.

"That is indeed a terrible thing," he murmured slowly, "But you need not despair so. After all, am I not your friend?" Slowly, slowly, she whispered,

"Yes."

"And I would never abandon you in this manner," he assured her. "I suffered similarly in my youth. I understand your troubles. But know that it is, in the end, only a small trifle. If she leaves you so easily, logically she was not a very devoted friend to begin with, and you will be better off without her. If she is a true friend she will soon see the illogicality of her ways and will reestablish herself as your companion." He was more concerned about the bully, but he would not question her about it now – it could wait until this crisis had passed.

Slowly T'Lyra nodded, in agreement or perhaps understanding, but she nodded and met her gaze, her green eyes no longer glistening with tears.

"Thank you, Spock," she said in a near-whisper, and Spock felt his heart flood with warmth. The child really had been, in an Earth phrase, his "blessing in disguise".

"You are very welcome, T'Lyra," he replied steadily as he straightened up to his feet. "Now, would you still like to play ka'athyra together?"

"Yes," she replied firmly, and he could not suppress a faint smile. For all his plans of guiding the girl to hide her emotions, the child had an illogically enchanting effect on him and he found himself unable to do any such thing.

"Then let us return inside. The heat is particularly strong today." With that, they returned to the house, one of his hands remaining on her tiny shoulder, and a faint smile glued to her lips.

* * *

**A/N:** Thanks for reading! Next chapter should be up on Sunday.


	13. God Only Knows

**A/N:** Hey everyone! Thanks again to everyone who reviewed! :]

This chapter's title comes from the song _"God Only Knows"_ by The Beach Boys. Yeah, yeah, I know, Beach Boys, what a weirdo, hahaha x] But the title makes quite a bit of sense if you stop and think about it after having read the chapter ;]

As always, comments and critiques are welcomed! ^^ Please enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Thirteen: God Only Knows

It was 10:12 in the morning the next day when a knock came at the door. Spock was lounging in the sitting room with a PADD on his lap, reading an Andorian astronomer's blog about his theories of life outside the Milky Way galaxy, a subject of much debate amongst professionals, as even with advanced warp technology it would still take upwards of three hundred years to reach the nearest neighboring galaxy. He found his ideas to be most fascinating – but then came the knock at the door, and he was pulled away from his studies.

He raised an eyebrow to himself – this was most peculiar. His father was at work, and Spock was not expecting any guests. One of the servants scurried by and he listened to the door being opened, but he could only make out faint murmurs of voices. After a moment the servant stepped back into the room.

"One Ambassador Selek says he is here to see you," he announced. Spock blinked in surprise. This was unexpected, most unexpected.

"Send him in," he replied, and the servant acquiesced with a nod and left once more.

Spock sat up into a presentable sitting position, smoothing the fabric of his black long sleeved shirt and gray lounge pants and setting his PADD on the nearby side table. The servant appeared once more in the doorway.

"Ambassador Selek," he announced simply, and stepped aside to allow the man to walk in.

The old man's tired features looked identical to the last time Spock had seen his counterpart, approximately ten months ago. He stood to greet him, but the old man – Selek, he reminded himself – did not move further into the room.

"Greetings, Spock," he said, the voice unsettlingly familiar.

"...Greetings," he replied hesitantly, and for a moment they stood awkwardly looking at each other, then Spock continued hurriedly, "It is most unexpected to see you here."

"I can say the same about you," Selek replied slowly, "That is why I have come to see you today."

Spock took a deep breath as a feeling of dread settled over him. This was not a conversation he wished to be having. It was also not a conversation he wished for the servants to overhear.

"Let us speak of this outside," Spock said slowly, taking a step towards the door that led to the garden. Selek acquiesced silently, following without protest.

It was warm outside, but the midday heat had not yet arrived.

"Sit," Spock said, gesturing to the many stone chairs in the garden as he sat down into one. Selek sat down across from him slowly, then smoothed out his robe with a sigh.

"I will not bother you with the small talk I know we find distasteful," the old man said slowly with a hint of amusement. However, his tone changed quickly to one of utmost solemnity as he continued, "Why did you... resign from Starfleet?"

The question he had almost asked – "Why did you leave the _Enterprise_?" – hung heavily, near-tangibly in the air, and Spock lowered his gaze. He was silent for seventeen seconds, gathering his thoughts, then he said slowly,

"It is a complicated matter."

"I am not unintelligent, nor am I rushed for time," Selek replied, raising an eyebrow. Spock audibly sighed. He had spent quite a long time attempting to not think of the matter, and for a while he had succeeded. He did not want to start spiraling into this again, but it appeared he did not have a choice in the matter. If Selek was anything like himself, and he suspected he was, he would not be getting out of this conversation.

"Approximately five months ago I suffered from an early, accelerated Pon Farr while aboard the _Enterprise._ I am sure you have heard of such phenomena occurring in recent months," he said quickly – the faster he could say it, the faster the conversation would be over.

Selek raised an eyebrow. "And I take it it was... unpleasant?"

"We were too far away from New Vulcan to make it in time. I had resigned myself to death, but..." He paused, unsure of how to continue. "The... the captain, in concern, placed himself in my quarters while I was... delirious." Selek's eyes flashed in what seemed to be recognition – peculiar, but he would not inquire after it now.

"Did you harm him?" he asked, concern and urgency evident in his tone. Spock closed his eyes, fighting down the urge to vomit. He could not bring himself to say it.

"Spock."

He whispered, barely audible – "I raped him."

For a moment Selek only stared at him at him, then slowly, slowly, leaned back in his seat, letting out a long breath he must have been holding.

"...This is indeed a tragic situation." Spock could not bring himself to reply. For twenty-five seconds the old man gazed at the stone floor, his eyes unfocused in thought, then he looked back up at Spock and said,

"You must attempt to reconcile with him."

Spock nearly laughed at the absurdity of his demand. "Reconcile? He sent me off the ship himself – it is grossly illogical to think he would have any desire to even attempt to resolve this."

"Listen to me, Spock," he replied, his voice gravelly with determination, "You _must_ do this. If events in my universe are any reflection of this one, you need the Captain – you _need_ each other. Apart, you will both suffer and wither away." Anger flashed in Spock and he stood up quickly.

"But as you already know, this universe is infinitely different from yours," he said heatedly, "To assume that this will be the same is an unforgivable lapse in logic. I will not make any attempt to contact the captain, and you cannot convince me otherwise."

For a long moment they stared at each other, Selek remaining placidly in his seat as Spock stood, breathing heavily in the aftermath of his anger.

"Then I will contact him," Selek said finally, "Out of respect for you I will not inform him of your whereabouts, but I will contact him nonetheless."

"I cannot stop you," the younger man spat bitterly, "I will escort you to the door. Come." He turned and began to walk away, and he heard Selek slowly rise and follow him.

Spock led him through the house to the front door. As he opened it, Selek said gravely,

"It pains me to see you in such a state. I wish only for your well-being – please reconsider."

"Live long and prosper," Spock replied coolly, holding the door open. Selek stared at him for seven seconds more, then slowly walked through the door back out into the heat. Spock shut the door behind him, and for one minute and twelve seconds he stood there staring at the heavy stone handle in despair.

* * *

Jim was on his lunch break when the communications officer on shift called him over the intercom.

"Bridge to Captain Kirk – repeat, bridge to Captain Kirk," came the voice, which was distinctly male and distinctly not Uhura.

Jim stood quickly, abandoning his seat where he had been picking at the food McCoy had ordered him to eat – something about losing weight not being good or something. He strode to the intercom and said,

"Kirk here."

"Captain, you have a transmission from New Vulcan. It's from a private home commlink."

His breath hitched and for a moment his heart stopped. He could hear McCoy's voice perfectly in his head telling him not to get worked up over nothing, there were certainly plenty of hobgoblins on New Vulcan who would want to speak to him for one reason or another now that they were scheduled to visit – but he could not stop his heart from pounding in his chest nonetheless.

"Patch it through to my quarters," he said breathlessly after a moment, not even bothering to stay to listen to the officer respond, "Yes, sir." He walked quickly out of the officer's mess hall, ignoring the furtive glances that were shot in his direction, abandoning his uneaten meal.

The turbolift was not fast enough, his legs could not move fast enough, the door could not open fast enough, his commlink could not boot up fast enough. The screen flashed and Jim could not hear anything but the hammering of his heart.

The screen flashed once more and suddenly Spock's face was staring back at him. He stopped breathing.

It was not his Spock. The familiar face of the elder counterpart bowed his head in greeting as Jim forced his lungs to start working again.

"Hello, Captain," the elderly Vulcan said, his voice sending a jolt through Jim's spine – it was Spock's voice and not Spock's voice.

"Ambassador Selek," Jim said with a forced brightness, "To what do I owe the honor?"

"I have a pressing matter which I must speak with you about, Captain," he replied, "I regret that this cannot be a leisurely conversation, but this is of utmost importance."

"I see," Jim replied, beginning to feel uneasy, "Well, I have time."

"I spoke today with Spock," he said abruptly, and Jim felt his stomach roil. "I was recently most shocked to hear he had resigned from Starfleet and so I contacted him seeking an explanation."

"Do you know where he is?" Jim asked faintly, aware of the panic in his tone but refusing to heed it.

"I do, but I cannot tell you," Selek sighed, "He told me of what happened." Jim lowered his gaze in a feeling he could not name – a combination of embarrassment and dread but also of relief – if Selek knew, then maybe he could know how to help, how to make things right again.

"And?" he murmured in reply. Selek paused before saying,

"Although he responded hostilely to my... confrontation, I feel it is safe to say he feels a deep amount of regret and shame for his actions."

"I know," Jim replied simply, recalling the underlying horror and guilt he had felt roiling off of the Vulcan when their minds had been joined.

"I urged him to contact you, to resolve the matter," Selek continued – Jim nearly jumped at his words, "However, he was very adverse to the idea. He is convinced that you despise him."

For a long while Jim was silent. _Did_ he hate him? He had every right to, but he didn't think so – when he thought of Spock now, he did not react in terror the way he had not too long ago, maybe some anxiety but not terror – and, now, he was mostly filled with a deep and overwhelming sadness, a despair for the loss of what could have been the friendship the older man now peering at him claimed it would be.

"Do you have such feelings for him?" Selek asked sharply, and for a moment Jim panicked and felt his face redden before he realized Selek was talking about hating Spock, not... something else.

"No," Jim said softly, "No, I don't hate him."

"That is a relief," Selek said, relaxing visibly to Jim's surprise, "I said this to him, and now I will say it to you; you and Spock need each other in a way that is indescribable. Without each other, both of you are bound to a life of misery. You may succeed in the paths you choose to follow, but you will never be truly and wholly happy and complete without one another."

Jim could not help but start to worry over his words – but he could sort out the deeper hidden meanings of his speech later.

"So what do I need to do?" he asked – begged – the older Vulcan.

"I am confident your paths will cross once more, though I cannot aide you in doing so," Selek said slowly, "And when you do meet again, you must convince him to return not only to Starfleet but to the _Enterprise_. You must ensure he knows that you wish him to be by your side once more, that you do not think ill of him the way he, logically, believes you to."

"I... I don't know – what could I say?"

"Exactly what you have told me," Selek replied solemnly, "That you do not hate him. If it comes from you, he will believe it."

"And you're certain?" Jim asked hesitantly. Selek only nodded once, sharply, in response. Jim sighed and leaned back in his chair, tension draining from his body.

"I trust you," he said faintly, "I... I'll keep an eye out for him." He chuckled dryly, humorlessly, at the joke he knew was stupid the moment it left his mouth.

"Do not try too hard," the older man warned, "Let this take its course. Let your next meeting be not a forced collision but a joining of destinies."

"Very poetic. I didn't know Vulcans could be so lyrical," Jim commented, half-heartedly smirking. Selek raised an eyebrow.

"You would be surprised," he replied simply, "Unfortunately I have no more time to talk. Remember my words, and good luck, old friend."

"Thank you," Jim murmured slowly, "I'll see you around."

"Live long and prosper," Selek replied – Jim's heart responded to the words with a pointed ache – and then the screen went blank.

Slowly Jim looked away, down at his feet, his mind racing. Whatever he had been expecting Selek to say to him, this had not been it. He had a lot of thinking to do. Maybe he could convince Bones to get him out of duty for the rest of the day – he would ask in a minute. Right now he just needed to sit for a moment and absorb everything the old Vulcan had told him.

He wondered if it was too late to call Selek back and beg him to teach him how to meditate.

* * *

**A/N:** Okay before I get people harping on me because Jim may seem a little OOC this chapter compared to last chapter because something tells me someone is going to say something - please keep in mind it has been several days, he's had time to adjust to the idea, and the person talking to him is much gentler and knows how to handle him much better than poor old Bones. ^^; Humans are, after all, very fickle creatures.

Anyways! Thanks so much for reading! Next chapter will be up on Tuesday.


	14. Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night

**A/N:** Hello again! Thanks to everyone who reviewed! ^^

This chapter's title is from the poem _Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night_ by Dylan Thomas. The poem itself is about dying, but in the context of this chapter it is less about death and more about abandonment and fear thereof, mostly in reference to our favorite Starship captain. ;]

**As a warning, this chapter contains some sex**.** However, it is NOT explicit **and I'm sure that most of you reading aren't going to be particularly bothered, but just in case, the warning is there. If that makes you uncomfortable, just kind of skip over a couple paragraphs towards the end, hahaha.

Anyways! As always, comments and critiques are greatly appreciated. Please enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Fourteen: Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night

Spock began meditating more often after his encounter with his older self. As much as he did not want to think of their conversation, he knew that if he did not sort through the jumbled thoughts Selek had left him with, his behavior would be affected. And more than anything, he did not want T'Lyra to notice.

He supposed it was silly, to care so much for the girl. But it was difficult not to – he saw a reflection of himself in her, he knew the suffering and prejudice that she had faced and that which was yet to come, and he longed to protect her from that which had caused him pain. He knew it was illogical, but for her, he did not care. Doing everything he could in their four hours a day together to keep her content and safe became the purpose of his life – he had nothing else to live for.

So when she appeared glum as she did her homework three days after his encounter with Selek, he could not help but ask,

"Is anything the matter?"

She looked down quickly to the floor, a faint green blush tinging her cheeks and the tips of her ears.

"It is nothing of importance," she mumbled. He raised an eyebrow.

"If it were unimportant it would not be distracting you from your studies. Enlighten me and I will endeavor to help you."

She shifted nervously in her seat – her displays of emotion had long since become too endearing for Spock to be able to bring himself to rebuke her – before she blurted out quickly,

"It has been three weeks and two days since I have visited my mother."

Slowly Spock nodded, understanding the meaning of her words. If she was anything like himself – and after their time together he had found they were more alike than not – she was certainly quite fond of her mother and having to deal with not only her illness but her resulting absence was difficult at best for the young half-Vulcan.

"Are you worried for her health?" he asked, and she shook her head once.

"If her health was declining the hospital would have contacted us," she replied, "It is just..." She trailed off and struggled in vain to put her thoughts into logical words, then finally murmured in defeat, "I miss her."

"I am sorry," Spock replied, feeling all too acutely the pang of longing for his own mother. He thought for a moment – the nearest hospital, the one her mother likely was at, was not really within walking distance, but there was a hovertrain station nearby that could take them within walking distance...

"Is she at the Federation hospital approximately ten standard miles east of here?" he asked, and T'Lyra cast a surprised glance at him before replying,

"Yes."

"Will your father have any objections if I take you there?"

"...I cannot imagine so. To do so would be illogical."

"An excellent point," Spock conceded, "When you have completed your schoolwork we will visit her. We can take the train."

T'Lyra flushed green once more, but a smile was toying at her lips that she attempted, unsuccessfully, to stifle.

"Will you be uncomfortable with her?" she asked.

"You forget that I have spent the majority of my existence surrounded by humans," he replied, raising an eyebrow, "I am certain it will be fine." She nodded in acknowledgment, steadily meeting his gaze with a look of guarded joy.

"Thank you, Spock," she said fervently, honestly, and for the first time in a long while, Spock felt truly happy.

* * *

As they entered the hospital forty-one minutes later, however, Spock was beginning to wonder if this had been such a good idea. He was a person who planned things far ahead of time, and the spontaneity of their visit was beginning to make him feel distinctly uncomfortable. He was careful not to let it show, however – he had told T'Lyra they would go, and so they would.

T'Lyra hurried to the main desk with an air that suggested she had done so many times before.

"We are here to visit Anja, wife of Solap," she said to the receptionist, who glanced over a few PADDs and responded flatly,

"She is currently available for visitors."

T'Lyra nodded and, with a glance at Spock, began to walk deeper into the building. He followed silently as she led him down several hallways, all of which were perfectly straight and brightly lit in spite of the dark stone the walls were made out of. The hallways were all completely silent, as was customary in Vulcan hospitals. Finally they came to a stop in front of a door identical to all the rest, except that it was the only one in the hallway.

"This is her room," she said softly, glancing at him as if seeking permission. He gestured with a slight nod of his head for her to proceed.

T'Lyra opened the door and glanced inside, then quickly entered the room with a murmur of, "Mother." Spock stepped in quickly behind her, shutting the door quietly before surveying the scene.

T'Lyra had hurried to the side of a plain hospital bed sporting white sheets, fitting with the plain white of the rest of the brightly-lit room. It was noticeably cooler in the room, and Spock was briefly reminded of being in San Francisco with Starfleet, of being on the _Enterprise,_ where the climate control was always at a comfortable level for humans and a decidedly unpleasant, cold level for himself.

"T'Lyra!" came a foreign voice, and Spock looked away from the child and to the woman on the bed who was her mother.

The woman – Anja, he reminded himself – was very decidedly un-Vulcan in appearance. Her rounded face sported a small button nose and full lips, framed by wavy dirty-blond hair. Her eyes were wide, smiling, and the same brilliant green he was accustomed to seeing in T'Lyra's Vulcan features. She did not appear to notice him as she beamed at T'Lyra, joy radiating from her smile like light from a fire, and Spock instantly knew that T'Lyra's mother adored her, loved her more than life itself. With a pang he wondered if his own mother had ever looked upon him with such unbridled happiness – he was certain she had, but he was sorry he had never been able to witness it with the clarity he now observed the mother and daughter before him with.

"T'Lyra," the woman said faintly, reaching out to hold the girl by her shoulders, "What a wonderful surprise!"

"I missed you unbearably," she murmured, leaning into the contact, "I wanted to see you very badly."

"Did Father bring you?" she asked.

"No," T'Lyra replied, "Mr. Spock brought me."

Spock stiffened slightly as the woman turned to look at him. She smiled again and he gave a slight nod of his head in acknowledgment.

"I apologize for any inconvenience," he said quickly, "I will wait in the hallway if you would prefer."

"Nonsense," Anja replied, "Come sit down, Mr. Spock." She gestured towards the chair next to where T'Lyra was standing, and hesitantly he stepped further into the room to stand next to T'Lyra. "Sit!" the older woman insisted, and he sat down. T'Lyra glanced questioningly at her mother, but she only replied by placing a hand on the girl's shoulder.

"I was hoping I'd get to meet you, Mr. Spock," she said with a faint smile, "I would like to tell you how thankful I am for all you've done for our family."

"It is nothing," Spock began, but Anja cut him off before he could go on.

"No, it certainly isn't nothing," she replied, "T'Lyra has flourished while you've been in her life. The comfort of knowing she's not alone, of having someone she can relate to – that's been such a blessing, for her and for our family. I know you had quite a career going for you in Starfleet – " Spock flinched inwardly but forced his face to remain cool and collected. " – and I don't know why you left that behind, but I'm beyond thankful that you've been here for T'Lyra when she needed someone."

"It has been my pleasure," Spock replied softly, steadily meeting her clear, honest gaze.

T'Lyra, at this point, had flushed a bright green and before her mother could go on any more she interrupted,

"I believe he understands your point, Mother." Anja laughed, returning her attention back to the girl.

"Sorry," she said, "I didn't mean to embarrass you." T'Lyra flushed even darker.

"I am not embarrassed," she replied stiffly, and Spock suppressed a smile, recalling more than a few conversations with his mother nearly identical to the one now occurring between the mother and daughter.

They remained at the hospital for an hour. T'Lyra was happy, so Spock was content.

* * *

Jim did not want to talk to McCoy. He didn't want to talk to anyone, for that matter. He skipped dinner and instead holed himself up in his quarters and sucked down a couple bottles of replicated beer.

His mind was racing. He had spent the past several days mulling over the works Selek had spoken to him and he could find only one conclusion.

The older Spock must have been in a relationship with Jim's own counterpart. That was the only answer Jim could find to his question of _why_ it was so imperative that he and Spock be together.

And that scared him shitless. He had been in a few relatively long relationships before but nothing as committed as Selek seemed to hint at, and plus they had all been with females. Sure, he had messed around with a few guys – who hadn't? – but in a relationship?

And of all the people – of every one of the _trillions_ of individuals in the known universe – Spock? They had grown closer over time, sure, but there was a _huge_ difference between "best friend" and "soulmate".

He wasn't so sure he could keep his word to Selek any more. He didn't know what he felt towards Spock, but right now the thought of the half-Vulcan made him distinctly uneasy, and not because of the disaster with Pon Farr. He could think of it now without flinching – not that he enjoyed the thought, but he was okay with it now. He downed another beer.

He tried to imagine it – being in a relationship with Spock, waking up next to the furnace-warm, stoic Vulcan every morning and getting in bed with him every night. He wondered what it would be like to fuck him (outside his lone previous experience, of course), to fuck him senseless the way he had with more than a few females, which he prided himself on. And then he realized how stupid he was being – he didn't even really know what a Vulcan dick looked like, for fuck's sake – and he replicated three more beers, feeling peculiarly both anxious and suddenly horny. Well, at least he still _had_ a sex drive.

He did not notice that McCoy had stepped into his quarters – had he left the door unlocked? – until the older man drawled from the doorway,

"Thought I'd find you here."

"Did'n wanna talk t'anyone," Jim slurred, finding himself unable to remember just how many beers he had drank by now.

"Mind if I join you?" McCoy asked gruffly, and even as drunk as he was Jim knew something was wrong, so he gestured to the nearest chair and McCoy sat down with a sigh as Jim stumbled to the replicator for some whiskey, and maybe a mint julep if the doctor was really upset.

"I lost Ensign Cooper," McCoy said, and Jim decided the mint julep was definitely a good idea, "The one in the Engineering accident today. I tried my damndest but his heart gave out. He was twenty-one, Jim. Fuckin' twenty-one!" He sighed heavily and reached for the whiskey Jim had silently set down. "Twenty-one, and his mother's getting a notification of death in the morning."

"I'm real sorry," Jim murmured, "He was a sweet kid."

"A real sweetheart but dumb as bricks," McCoy lamented, "I mean, he went down a fucking Jeffries tube without even checking to see if the damn thing's heating systems were off, without a harness – and now he's dead. Fuck, Jim, I tried, I really did."

"I know," Jim replied, "You always do. I know."

"This shouldn't have to happen," McCoy muttered, and downed a shot of whiskey. The mint julep remained untouched.

* * *

In the end, Jim drank the mint julep. He didn't want to get up to get any more beers and McCoy hadn't touched it so he drank it too, as the doctor polished off the whiskey. The sat there drunkenly for a while, conversing in slurred voices on unrelated topics, until finally Jim glanced at the clock and hissed,

"Shit, it's almost one – it's late, Bones..." The doctor only grunted in reply, and Jim stood – what he was planning to do he wasn't sure – and started to walk past McCoy, trying to remember where his closet was so he could change into sleeping clothes because his uniform was dirty as hell. And then he suddenly realized there were beer bottles on the floor because he tripped on one and went tumbling forward to land on something warm and bony that groaned at the impact. It took him a moment to realize he had landed on McCoy, and he looked blearily into the doctor's brown, unfocused eyes.

"Jim," the doctor slurred, "Why're your eyes so – so damn blue?"

"Space radiation or somethin', when I was born," Jim replied, and for the life of him he could not remember the specifics, "Supposed to be, like, hazel or somethin'."

"Prettiest damn eyes I ever seen," McCoy drawled, his hands roaming up Jim's arms and shoulders.

And suddenly they were kissing, sloppily and lazily and Jim couldn't remember how this had happened but then Bones started kissing him harder, searching the inside of his mouth as his hands found the younger man's hips and ground them into his own, _hard_, and Jim stopped thinking, grinding involuntarily against him as they both let out faint groans at the motion.

Somehow they managed to stumbled to Jim's bed, falling onto the sheets in a mess of limbs and whimpers and gasps. Somehow they managed to rid themselves of shoes, then tunics, then trousers and socks, all with their mouths still meshed together, or maybe not, Jim wasn't sure. At the first touch of their bare chests Jim gasped out, "_fuck me!_" and Bones replied, just as breathlessly, "_I will, I will._"

As they kissed furiously, as their hands roamed, as their hips ground insistently together, separated only by mere centimeters of Starfleet regulation boxer-briefs, Jim's mind chanted continuously, _Spock Spock Spock Spock Spock Spock Spock_, and he wished it, believed it, and when Bones' hand burrowed under the waistband of his underwear and stroked him fervently, his hands clutched at the sheets and his head lolled back on the pillows and he cried out in desperation,

"_Spock!_"

And as suddenly as everything had started, it stopped. For a moment McCoy was perfectly still as Jim gasped for breath, eyes squeezing shut as the drunken haze lifted from his mind with the shock of the word he had just uttered, of the realization of the terrible mistake he had nearly made.

Then slowly, slowly, McCoy backed away and sat up on the edge of the bed and when Jim looked, he was looking at him with such an expression of both hurt and guilt that if Jim had not already been about to cry, the doctor's face would have driven him to tears.

"I'm sorry," Jim said desperately, his voice growing thick, "I'm so sorry, Bones, I didn't – I didn't mean for – I can't do this, Bones, I can't, I can't, I..." He pressed the backs of his hands to his eyes as he began to sob.

He whispered, "I love Spock." He cried, "_I love Spock!_"

And at that moment, in spite of the drunken stupor and the nearly-nude doctor sitting at the edge of his bed, Jim knew that that was the truth and nothing could change it.

For a long while McCoy remained silent as Jim cried into his hands, still laying sprawled over the sheets, until finally he said gruffly, hoarsely,

"I know, Jim."

He stood and began to gather his clothes from the floor as Jim forced himself to sit up, still choking back half-sobs and blinking against tears.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he repeated.

"And I'm sorry too," McCoy replied faintly, pulling on his trousers, "This shouldn't have happened. It's my fault too. This... This won't change anything, you hear? We're still – we're still brothers." His voice hitched and he looked away as Jim nodded fervently, miserably, and said,

"Okay. Okay. I'm so sorry."

"I know," he replied, clearing his throat, "Just... Just give me a day or two to cool off. Okay?"

"Yeah."

"Try and get some sleep. I'll have you off-duty tomorrow if you want."

Jim closed his eyes. It shouldn't have happened this way. It shouldn't have happened at all but it did and he hated himself for it.

"That's probably a good idea," he murmured after a moment, because he was certain he wasn't going to be able to sleep tonight.

"All right," the doctor replied, and with that he stepped silently through the door into the bright hallway and he was gone, and Jim was alone in the darkness.

* * *

**A/N:** Thanks for reading! Next chapter will be up on Thursday.


	15. The Sun Also Rises

**A/N:** Hello again everyone! Thanks to all the wonderful readers who reviewed. :]

This chapter's title comes from the novel The Sun Also Rises by Ernest Hemingway, which I, uh, have never read, l-lol, but the phrase itself fits well with the chapter, I think. x]

Another angsty chapter here, so load up on tissues and ice cream if you think you'll need it ;]

As a side note that is completely unrelated, I made a tumblr! x] If any of you are interested in my daily life (not that exciting, but just in case, l-lol) you can follow me at kleinchen . tumblr . com. :]

Anyways! As always, comments and critiques are greatly appreciated! Please enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Fifteen: The Sun Also Rises

In spite of everything, Jim was still uncertain at best, though "scared shitless" was probably a better term for it. He knew he needed Spock, knew it from the depths of his soul, knew it with an absolute finality the he did not truly understand but could not deny.

But there was still a part of him that recoiled from the thought of needing Spock – of needing _anybody_. Replace "need" with "love" and he recoiled further. It made no sense, it was _illogical_, but it was branded as truth into his mind and heart as surely as was the fact that he was a blond-haired and blue-eyed genius-level repeat offender from Riverside, Iowa, born in the Narada massacre of the USS _Kelvin_ that killed his father. Which made it pretty much an irrefutable fact, a truth that could not be disputed.

Part of him was convinced he would never see Spock again, in spite of Selek's assurances otherwise. Part of him could not accept he felt anything but a guarded friendship for Spock, in spite of the debacle with McCoy only a few hours previous. And in spite of all those parts of him, he found himself missing Spock more than he ever had before.

He knew he loved Spock. He didn't know yet if he _wanted_ to love Spock.

He prayed to god that he would find Spock on New Vulcan. Maybe by then he would know what he wanted.

* * *

"T'Lyra."

For a moment T'Lyra was hesitant to turn around. Spock was, for unknown reasons, late picking her up today, which made her illogically anxious as he had never been late before. Therefore she particularly did not want to deal with Zardek at the moment, but she had found that ignoring him often provided just as disastrous results as facing him. She pondered briefly what he wanted now - there were still twelve others surrounding her so he could not do much, but still she found herself worrying. She pushed the worry away though, telling herself to be calm.

This all took merely a second and then slowly T'Lyra turned to face him. Zardek's familiar features stared back at her, his narrow eyes studying her beneath his dark brown, slightly messy hair, and she replied calmly,

"Yes, Zardek?"

"Instructor Sadin wishes to speak with you," he replied evenly, and T'Lyra blinked in surprise. She could not think of any reason why the instructor would wish to speak with her - unless he suspected her of cheating because of her improved mathematics scores, but she doubted that. She stared back at Zardek for a long moment, suspicion taking over her thoughts, but again she pushed the fettering emotions away, took in a breath, and said,

"I will be there momentarily." She looked uneasily around again, wondering what could possibly be keeping Spock for he was still nowhere to be seen, and she glanced in turn at each of the children around her, most of them staring straight ahead into the street but a few casting guarded glances in their direction. She mustered her courage, then turned and began walking back into the school.

"I will accompany you," Zardek said, beginning to follow her, and T'Lyra was suddenly more anxious than ever but she could not turn back now and refusing him would only anger him, she was certain.

They walked for a few moments, and they were about halfway through the school when Zardek's voice came again from behind her.

"T'Lyra."

She turned around to face him only to be met with his fist, and she stumbled backwards with blood gushing from her lip. Panic blossomed in her chest and she began to run, but he caught her quickly and shoved her to the dirt. In an instant he was upon her and as he lifted his fist to strike her again, his lips twisted in a snarl, she could only hope that Spock would be here soon.

* * *

It had been a normal day until Spock was almost hit by a hovercar falling out of the sky, which was his first warning that the rest of the day would be unpleasant.

He had been walked to T'Lyra's school as per usual when the incident happened. He heard a peculiar whistling sound coming from above that grew steadily louder over the course of three seconds and, in concern, he glanced up to see the bottom of a hovercar rapidly approaching the ground approximately five feet from his current position. He took a few hurried steps backwards, then the car crashed into the unyielding ground with quite a commotion, spraying dust and dirt and chunks of metal and cement several feet in the air and Spock lifted his arms to protect his face.

When the dust settled down and Spock lowered his arms, he found he had been quite lucky, for the hovercar lay not even ten feet from where he now stood. A few people hurried over as he pulled himself together, having been thrown into quite a panic, and after a moment the hovercar door opened with a metallic groan and a young man stumbled out, coughing slightly.

"Is anybody injured?" the man asked as he glanced around the small crowd that had gathered.

"I do not believe so," Spock said breathlessly, for there had been no one near enough to him to have also been threatened, and a few others murmured in agreement.

It took several moments before Spock could go on his way again, and he hurried along the walkways, realizing he was now eleven minutes and forty-nine seconds late to T'Lyra's school.

He arrived at the school after another three minutes and twenty-four seconds and he scanned the now-meager line of schoolchildren for T'Lyra's familiar face.

She was not there.

He suppressed a frown as worry began to gnaw on the edges of his thoughts and he approached the children who were eying him with guarded curiosity.

"Where is T'Lyra?" he asked without preamble. The remaining students – nine of them, he counted – cast uneasy glances amongst themselves, which turned his worry into near-panic. Finally a girl with a long oval face and particularly severe eyebrows who appeared to be the same age as T'Lyra said,

"I do not know. Someone called her back into the school approximately eight minutes ago." Several others murmured in agreement and without reply Spock strode past them and into the school. It was an outdoor school rather than indoor and Spock had never actually been in it before – but he had to find T'Lyra.

"It was Zardek who called her back," another child called ominously after him and panic flooded Spock's consciousness – he hurried – he ran – he _sprinted_ through the school, listening harder than he had ever listened for anything in his life, for some sound, _anything_ that would lead him to the girl who was all but his own child, who he longed to protect with every fiber of his being –

And then he stopped dead, hearing faint sounds of a boy's voice above an even fainter noise of sobs and pleas and he ran in the direction the noise was coming from, in the open field area of the school, and he rounded a corner and came screeching to a halt, his breathing suddenly ceasing as well.

It only took him an instant to take in the scene before him, a scene that would haunt him forever, he was sure. The first thing he was aware of was T'Lyra, lying on the ground with her feet writhing in desperation and her arms pounding helplessly at the frame of her captor. He was a boy of her age, kneeling over her with his legs atop her knees, and Spock could see that one hand held her down by the throat and the other brandished a pair of scissors coated in green blood, blood that was smeared over T'Lyra's twisted, sobbing features.

"You're not a real Vulcan," he heard the boy hiss as he brought the scissors to her face, "So you don't deserve to look like one!"

With a roar, Spock threw himself at he boy, who looked at him for the briefest of moments before he was thrown back several feet, struggled to get up with a look of shock and rage, and then was promptly thrown back once more as Spock dashed towards him again and swung his fist full-force into the twisted boyish face. The feeling of the boy's nose shattering and of teeth being knocked loose against his fist was sickeningly gratifying in a way Spock knew he should he ashamed of but was not. He lifted the boy off the ground once more and nerve pinched him with every ounce of strength he could muster, and the boy gave a strangled cry as his eyes rolled up into the back of his head and Spock all but threw him to the ground, gasping for breath as he turned away from the demon and rushed to T'Lyra.

The girl had curled up on the ground, sobbing openly with her hands clamped to her ears, viridian-hued blood seeping between her fingers. Spock fell to his knees beside her and gathered her into his arms. Blood dribbled down her chin – her lip was split and more than once bruise marred her face.

"T'Lyra," he breathed, "T'Lyra, I'm so sorry, please god T'Lyra I'm so sorry so sorry..." With as much gentleness as he could muster, for he was trembling nearly as much as she, he eased her hands away from her temples so he could view the extent of her injuries and when he did his heart broke and he blinked away tears.

The boy had cut off the tips of her ears. With the scissors, no doubt. With one arm he clutched her closer as her hands latched to the folds of his robe and she cried in great heaving sobs, and he fumbled with his communicator, he had to call an ambulance, she needed an ambulance, and –

"Spock," she sobbed as he lowered the communicator moments later, "Spock!"

"I'm sorry," he repeated, his voice breaking, "I'm here, T'Lyra, I'm here and I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

"I knew you would come," she whimpered, and he curled his body over her tiny helpless bleeding frame in protection that had come too late, and he wept.

* * *

**A/N:** Bad place to end the chapter? Don't worry, next update will be here before you know it on Saturday!


	16. Already Over

**A/N:** And we're back! Thanks to all the wonderful readers who reviewed! :]

This chapter's title comes from the song _"Already Over"_ by the band Red.

A few people had some questions about some stuff last chapter, and so I think I'll take this opportunity to say that if anything is ever unclear or something, please please please let me know/ask me and I'll clear it up. xD;

We're in the home stretch here! Four more chapters to go!

As always, comments and critiques are greatly appreciated! Please enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Sixteen: Already Over

Her wounds were not serious. Her ears were the worst – dermal regenerators would not be enough to completely reconstruct the damage for one reason or another that Spock had not listened to. Minor facial bruising, a split lip, and a fractured wrist made up the remainder of her injuries.

But Spock knew she had been wounded beyond a physical level, on a mental and emotional level that he feared she could never recover from, and for that his heart ached as pointedly as if her life had been lost, because in a way, it had.

He had been standing silently outside the door of the room they had put her in for twenty-one minutes – they had been there a total of forty-nine minutes now – when her father Solap arrived, walking hurriedly down the corridor with a look of such panic on his face that Spock could not help looking away as he strode past with little more than a glance at him before he rushed through the door.

Spock closed his eyes. Again he had failed. Another's life was ruined at his hands, and he could not bear the pain and guilt and sorrow that came with the thought.

"I thought I would find you here," his father's voice murmured and he opened his eyes and found Sarek gazing at him from a few feet away. "I heard of what happened, my son."

"I have failed," he said in a voice barely above a whisper, "This is my fault. I have failed her family, failed _her_..."

"You have done no such thing," Sarek replied, voice both soft and stern, "You could not have prevented this, Spock – do not blame yourself for what is out of your control."

"I could have prevented this," he replied helplessly, looking away. Sarek was silent and after six seconds he hesitantly placed a hand on his shoulder.

"You must not think this way, my son," he said simply, glancing at the closed door before them, "We should go home, Spock."

Silently he complied, following as Sarek led the way out back into the sunlight and humidity.

He could not bring himself to sleep that night. The events of the day continually played over and over again in his mind as he stared out the window into the purple night sky, at the two moons, yellow and blue, that were now less than a month away from being the closest they would ever be.

If he had been miserable before T'Lyra, he was beyond hope now. It seemed as though wherever he went, ruination and suffering followed. Interspersed with his thoughts of T'Lyra were painful memories of the _Enterprise_ and Jim Kirk, whom he had at first barely tolerated then grown to respect so very deeply – and then destroyed their fragile blossom of a friendship they had built over their few five months together.

No – it had started even before Jim. It had started with his mother who he failed to save, then Jim who he failed to keep safely away, and now T'Lyra – sweet, innocent T'Lyra who looked upon him with such unbridled adoration and joy, his precious almost-child – T'Lyra, who he failed to protect.

Spock turned away from the window and sobbed openly, burning tears running down his green-flushed face that he buried in his hands, his entire body heaving and trembling in agony. It was not a Vulcan thing to do, but with all that he had done, to call him a Vulcan would be a lie.

* * *

"Can I talk to you for a minute, Bones?"

It was two days after the... "incident", and Jim had spent the entirety of the first day working things out in his mind, his heart. And now, the morning of the second day, half an hour before the start of Alpha shift, he was prepared to work things out in reality. And that started with McCoy, who glanced sharply at him from where he stood in the middle of Sickbay next to Nurse Chapel, glanced sharply at the hesitant youthful face of the captain hovering in the doorway. The doctor then looked at Chapel, who rolled her eyes and waved him away with a mutter Jim could not hear. And with that McCoy sighed heavily, set down the PADD he had been holding, and strode towards Jim.

"My office," he said simply, pulling Jim by the arm towards the familiar door which swished shut firmly behind them. Jim settled into his usual seat as McCoy stood behind his desk, hovering nervously, then finally sat down as well.

"I wanted to say I'm sorry about what happened," Jim said quickly after a brief, awkward silence, "All of it, not just... the – the last bit." He flushed at the thought but continued, "None of that should have happened."

"I know, I know," the doctor sighed, "Look, Jim, we were both drunk as hell and we both know it was a mistake. I'm sure that wasn't the first time you nearly slept with someone you shouldn't have – _nearly_, mind you – and I seriously doubt it will be the last. So I think the best remedy for this is just to build a damn bridge and get the hell over it."

Jim beamed at him. "Well, jesus, Bones, you've certainly got a way with words," he laughed, feeling as though a great weight had been lifted off his shoulders. McCoy smirked in reply and gave a dry chuckle.

"Oh, dammit, come here you big dumbass," he snapped, standing up, and Jim rose to meet him in a crushing bear hug, each of them squeezing the other will all their might.

"You're still like a brother to me – a son, even," McCoy said roughly into his ear, "And I just wanna see you happy and I don't wanna see you as miserable as you've been. I may think you're a dumbass most of the time but you know I've always got your back, no matter what you do, you hear, kid?"

Jim could not remember the last time the doctor had called him "kid", but that simple word filled his heart with joy nearly as much as the words preceding it. He took a moment to compose himself – it would be embarrassing as hell if he starting crying now of all times – and then he murmured in reply,

"Thank you, Bones – that means a lot to me."

"Not like I could get away from you if I tried," the doctor replied grumpily, releasing him with a slap on the shoulder, "Now, you better haul ass to the bridge or you're gonna be late."

"Yeah, yeah, love you too, jackass," Jim laughed as he approached the door.

"Better a jackass than a dumbass," McCoy retorted, and the door shut behind Jim before he could reply, so he contented himself with chuckling faintly as he made his way out of Sickbay.

As he headed for the turbolift he could not help but smile. McCoy was still his best friend, still supported him, still cared for him. He knew he would see Spock again – who was he to doubt the ever-wise Selek? – and even if he didn't know what would come of that inevitable meeting, he felt ridiculously certain that everything would work out okay. And with McCoy at his side, that was more then enough to make him feel... well, _wonderful_.

* * *

Spock went to go visit T'Lyra in the morning. She had been discharged from the hospital in the evening the previous day, his father had informed him as he read off a message from Solap on his PADD as they had sat in the sitting room after a dinner that Spock could not bring himself to eat. The family had immediately withdrawn T'Lyra from the school, in spite of Zardek's prompt expulsion (apparently he had had numerous behavioral problems in the past and was suspected of having an unsound mind), but were so far unsure of the course of action they would take in response. There had been mentions of charges being pressed against Spock for assault, but Sarek had quietly and discreetly spoken with some officials to have them resolved. The boy's parents supposedly were not going to press charges either, as they were preoccupied with the boy himself who they were insisting was not guilty under reasons of insanity. That brought up a whole slew of questions and problems in Spock's mind, but he could not bring himself to focus on much of anything of importance.

Despite his inner turmoil and pain, Spock felt an intense need to be with the girl. So he sent a message to Solap, who had taken a leave from the embassy to remain at home with T'Lyra, that he would make a visit in the morning.

He ate breakfast quickly, more out of habit than hunger, and then set out for T'Lyra's home. Solap answered the door and immediately allowed him in, a haggard look on his face.

"I would like to speak with you a moment, before you see T'Lyra," he murmured and Spock nodded his consent. "I wish for you to understand, Spock, that neither I nor my wife find you at fault for what occurred yesterday. My wife, the poor woman, was so distraught, so panic-stricken, she caused herself to fall further ill, but..." He trailed off with an unsteady breath. "But that is irrelevant. Forgive me, my composure is not what it ought to be..." He wrung his hangs and Spock felt all the more heartbroken for the older man, who was emanating distress like heat from a flame.

"What I mean to say is that you are blameless. We know of the hovercar accident that occurred, that you could not help having been delayed – no one is at fault but the boy, this is all an accident, a terrible accident." Solap sighed and looked away. "I fear my thoughts are irregular today," he said, voice trembling, "You may speak with T'Lyra – go, go, we will discuss this later." And with that he retreated, and silently Spock turned down the hallway and approached T'Lyra's room.

Solap's words, as extensive as they had been, did not console him in any way. Even if they did not hold him responsible, he held himself responsible, and nothing could change that.

He knocked quietly at T'Lyra's door. A very faint "enter" answered him and he gingerly pushed the stone door open.

T'Lyra was sitting up in her bed, wearing the familiar gray robe she so often wore. The bandages around her ears were visible protruding from beneath her hair, and there were still faint bruise marks on her face. She watched him silently as he walked into the room and knelt beside her bed.

"There are no words in any language to express the depth of my regret and guilt," he murmured faintly as she gazed somberly at him, "But I am so very sorry, T'Lyra."

"The fault is not yours," she replied in a near-whisper, "I should have said something about Zardek, I should have known his verbal attacks would eventually escalate into physical violence. I should not have believed when he said the teacher wished to speak with me, should not have walked with him... I am at least partly to blame, Spock."

"You are mistaken," he replied fervently, her words unbearable, "Wherever the blame lies, T'Lyra, it is not with you." She looked away, green eyes glistening with tears. Spock gently placed a hand on her wrist, his heart breaking a thousand times over.

"Will it always be this way, Spock?" she begged suddenly, "Will there always be such conflict, such – such _suffering_?" Her tears began to spill over and she lifted the hand not held by Spock to wipe at her eyes gingerly.

"Someday it will be better," he assured her desperately, though he did not believe it himself.

"I hope someday comes soon," she cried, voice breaking, and Spock hung his head in sorrow, fighting against tears pricking at his own eyes.

"I hope so too," he replied, "I truly do."

He remained with her another hour, though they talked very little, before taking his leave while assuring her he would visit again soon. When he approached the main door he heard Solap's voice call out to him.

"Spock." He turned to see the older man approaching him from the hallway, "I have one more thing to tell you."

"I am listening," Spock replied, clasping his hands behind his back.

"My wife and I have decided that this is a poor environment to raise T'Lyra in," he said slowly, "As such, we have decided to relocate to Earth."

Spock was silent for a moment, taking in the information, before replying, "Will you then be raising her in a more human fashion?"

"Most likely," Solap sighed, "With all the abuse she has suffered at the hands of Vulcans, it would be... better for her mental health."

"I agree," Spock murmured, and Solap continued,

"With Starfleet being based on Earth there is a richer diversity of species to be found. We are hoping that this means a higher level of tolerance of those who are... different, as T'Lyra is." He shook his head. "It is all a sordid affair, I will have no job lined up and the journey would not be good for my wife's health, and the entire population of New Vulcan is likely to ridicule use for abandoning the reconstruction – but T'Lyra is more important than that, and this is necessary for her mental health, no matter how illogical others perceive us to be."

"What is necessary is never illogical," Spock replied. Solap nodded once, weariness evident on his features.

"I cannot express the gratitude my family and I have for you," he said, "We will likely be moving in a week's time and I am certain T'Lyra will want you to be there to see us off."

"I will certainly be there," Spock assured him, in spite of the pain in his heart at the thought of a life without T'Lyra.

* * *

**A/N: **Thanks for reading! Next update will be on Monday.


	17. Mountains Fall Into the Heart of the Sea

**A/N:** Hey everyone! Thanks again to all the lovely readers who left reviews. :]

This chapter's title is actually a biblical reference. The title comes from the verse **Psalm 46:2**, which reads as: "_Therefore we will not fear, even though the earth be removed, and though the mountains be carried into the midst of the sea._" (NKJV) "Fall into the heart of the sea" is a slightly different translation, which is what I've used here. It's pretty easy to tell who's not afraid and who is drowning in this chapter ;]

This chapter's a little shorter but it's mostly a buildup for things to come. Only three chapters left! Hang in there, guys, the end's in sight ;]

As always, comments and critiques are greatly appreciated! Please enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Seventeen: And the Mountains Fall Into the Heart of the Sea

Life returned to normal, or at least a semblance of normalcy, aboard the _Enterprise_. Jim returned to his captaincy, which he had been woefully ignoring, with a renewed vigor. He joked with the crew, who were bewildered at the apparent disappearance of his constant mood swings but were pleased he had reassumed his role as the bridge's class clown.

He began attending all the little evening and weekend social events he had for so long ignored, ranging from movie nights in the rec rooms to parties on the observation deck, whether they were birthdays, anniversaries, or just-for-the-hell-of-it parties. And for the most part all his paperwork started arriving on time. To onlookers it seemed that whatever had plagued the young captain for the past six months had finally come to pass, and for that the crew shared in his newfound joy.

Preparations were in full swing for their diplomatic mission to New Vulcan, which was in a little less than a month. In the end Pike had been right – Jim was contacted by a young, severe-looking Vulcan female who informed him that the High Council wished for him to deliver a speech at the ceremony. As such, Jim, who was charismatic and all but not much of a writer, began to spend as much free time as possible working on his speech. This led to him spending copious amounts of time with Uhura, whose linguistic skills seemed to carry over into the realm of literature and composition. He had begged her to help him and she had reluctantly but amusedly agreed.

For their time together she carefully avoided the topic of Spock, which was probably for the better as Jim had bigger things to worry about and didn't want to think about Spock until he was faced with a situation that required him to do so. To do otherwise would be a waste of energy – would be _illogical_, he thought humorously. He did find himself missing the half-Vulcan from time to time in spite of himself – but that was all. He would cross that bridge when he came to it.

* * *

Six days later, Spock stood in the transporter room of the New Vulcan Space Travel Center, across from T'Lyra's family. He stood uneasily as Solap handed their identification papers to the man at the controls, who glanced at them and said dryly,

"You will transported in six minutes precisely." Solap nodded, and then glanced at Spock.

"Thank you for being here today," the older man said to him simply and Spock bowed his head in acknowledgment. Solap then gestured to Anja and T'Lyra behind him. Anja sat placidly in a hoverchair, wearing a loose-fitting white blouse with billowing sleeves and light gray leisure pants of soft fabric. T'Lyra stood hesitantly behind her, white bandages still on her ears, visible with the hood of her dark red-brown cloak lowered.

Spock stepped towards them, and Anja spoke first, leaning forward in her hoverchair.

"Thank you for everything," she said softly, her voice resonating with gratitude and sympathy, "You have been such a blessing to us."

"It is I who should be thanking you," Spock replied evenly, and Anja beamed at him.

Finally T'Lyra stepped forward and Spock knelt so that he had to look up slightly to gaze into her familiar green eyes.

"I will miss you unbearably," she whispered.

"As will I," Spock replied, meaning it from the depths of his soul, "You have the number of my commlink. I will expect a call from you as soon as you are able."

"I definitely will," she replied fervently, "I... I wish to express my deep gratitude for your... your care and your friendship. I will treasure both for my entire life. I cherish thee, Spock."

"I cherish thee," Spock responded reverently in the same traditional Vulcan phrase she had used. She appeared to hesitate for a moment, then asked nervously,

"May I hug you?"

Spock's gaze softened.

"You may," he replied without hesitation and immediately her tiny arms were about his neck, her head buried in his shoulder, and carefully he too wrapped his arms around her slight frame, one wrapped around her waist and the other angled up to hold her shoulder. He let his face rest in the crook of her neck and he breathed in, memorized her scent of fresh linen and incense spices and youth.

Joy and sorrow both emanated from the girl in the fourteen seconds they embraced, and then T'Lyra pulled away and whispered,

"Don't ever forget me."

"Never," Spock vowed with a pang of agony in his chest – he was certain he would never be able to drive the child and the torturous guilt and self-hate from his thoughts.

The attendant, who had until then been keeping his attention pointedly away from their blatant emotionalism, finally cleared his throat and said,

"You will be beamed aboard the transport ship in fifty-seven seconds."

"Come," Solap said, pushing Anja's hoverchair to the transporter pad. T'Lyra followed silently, keeping her gaze on Spock, who had straightened up and kept his attention equally focused on her.

They arranged themselves on the transporter pad and then Solap said,

"Live long and prosper, Spock." He lifted his hand in the ta'al and Spock raised his hand as well, replying,

"Live long and prosper." T'Lyra glanced quickly between them, and then lifted her hand as well.

"Live long and prosper, Spock," she said, with a peculiar expression on her face, a look of the deepest sorrow and of the most passionate adoration.

"Live long and prosper, T'Lyra," he replied, his voice steady but his heart roiling.

"Energizing now," the attendant said, breaking their conversation, and Spock watched as the transporter hummed to life. He devoted T'Lyra's face to his memory as the family was surrounded by that familiar swirl of light.

And, like that, they were gone. Spock stared at where T'Lyra had been standing for seven seconds, and then he murmured, "Thank you" to the attendant, who nodded in acknowledgment, and then slowly, slowly, Spock turned around and left.

* * *

For three nights straight Spock found himself unable to sleep. He would attempt to, and would fail, and would give up and meditate restlessly through the night, which gave him a reprieve from the tortures of consciousness, but only slightly. Only slightly, because even in meditation he could not fully force away the despair that had manifested itself in his heart and ate away at him.

He could not sleep, and so after the third night he gave up and went out the next day, feeling slightly delirious, and purchased a set of thirty sedatives without his father's knowledge. He placed them out of sight in his bedroom and stared at them for a long while, the glass of the hypos casting a faint golden glow in the midday light.

He was a failure in every sense of the word. His duty as a son had been to keep his mother safe, and she was dead at his hands. His duty as First Officer had been to support his Captain, and Jim had sent him from the ship in a fit of terror and rage and humiliation, all caused at Spock's hands. And his duty to T'Lyra had been to protect her from that which he had been unable to protect himself, and now her suffering was beyond any which Spock had suffered at her age. There could be no forgiveness for the abomination of his actions, not from others and certainly not from himself. He deserved to die; he had no reason to stay alive.

He remained studying the sedatives for eight minutes and twelve seconds. From the dosage information on the packaging, he calculated that eight of them would likely be enough to kill him – ten would make death a certainty.

He would set aside ten, he decided.

The year anniversary of the death of Vulcan – and of his mother – was coming up in thirteen days, he knew, and it would be a time of grief for his father. He did not wish to pain his father more than necessary – and so he would wait. If he used one of the remaining twenty hyposprays every other night to sleep, he would have only the final ten remaining nearly a month after that dreaded day. He could wait until then.

At nightfall he stood staring out the window in his nightclothes for a few moments.

The two moons were nearly upon each other.

He looked away, took a sedative – the prick and hiss of the hypospray against his skin was strangely comforting – climbed into his bed, and waited for sleep to come.

* * *

**A/N:** Thanks for reading! Next update will be Wednesday.


	18. Swimming Towards Propellers

**A/N:** Hey everyone! Thanks to all the lovely readers who reviewed. :]

I know this update is quite a bit earlier in the day than usual, but I'll be out of the house (and consequently away from a computer) literally all day today and I know I won't be able to get this chapter up today like I promised unless I put it up now, which is... about half past midnight my time, so... xD; I figured no one would be complaining about the chapter being up ten hours earlier than usual, though, hahaha. ^^

Auuughh you guyyysss! Only two more chapters left! Even I'm feeling anxious!

This chapter's title comes from the song "Swimming Towards Propellers" by a band called Falling Up. The song itself is actually very calming and ambient but I felt the phrase itself fits well with the chapter. ;]

**As a note in regards to last chapter: Please understand that I do not in any way support suicide.** Writing about it is completely different from supporting it. Suicide is never the answer to any problem - suicide is the question and the answer should always be "no".

Moving right along! As always, comments and critiques are greatly appreciated! (although, if you are going to critique, please actually say what I can do to improve rather than telling me to find another fandom because I suck - I'm looking at you, anon reviewer ;D ) Please enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Eighteen: Swimming Towards Propellers

Jim finished his speech two days before the ceremony, with Uhura's blessing (for a while she was convinced he was beyond all hope and would have to decline the presentation, but somehow managed to pull him through, much to her surprise and also delight – not that she told him that).

They had arrived in orbit over New Vulcan the day before, expecting to be beamed down and welcomed with a place to stay. After some confusion, however, they had then been informed that no lodgings had been prepared for them and they would have to remain aboard the _Enterprise, _which Jim did not particularly mind but seemed to irritate the rest of the crew.

"Damn hobgoblins inviting us here then telling us we gotta stay put," McCoy grumbled the evening before the ceremony as they sat in the rec room, watching a game of antigrav hockey on the telescreen, "Rude much."

"It's probably for the better," Jim chuckled, "You would've been complaining down there anyway – you know it's probably hot as shit."

"Probably," McCoy agreed irritably, then Earth scored a goal and the room jumped to their feet with a cheer.

When the game was over – Earth had barely won over the Andorian team with a score of ten to nine-and-a-half – McCoy clapped Jim on the shoulder and said,

"Better get some sleep, kid. Big day tomorrow."

"Yeah, I will," Jim laughed, "You too, though – I'm not the only one who has to get up at ass o'clock in the morning."

"Unfortunately," McCoy grumbled as they entered the turbolift, "If you're feeling nervous in the morning, tell me and I'll give you somethin' to keep you calm."

"Will do," Jim replied cheekily, grinning as the turbolift came to a stop on his floor and he stepped out into the hallway.

"And don't forget your dress uniform!" the doctor snapped as the turbolift doors closed and he was whisked away, leaving Jim laughing as he made his way to his quarters.

He was a little nervous, but that was alright. He changed and got into bed and before long he was sleeping a pleasant and untroubled sleep.

* * *

It was seven o'clock in the morning exactly when Sarek stepped into Spock's quarters and announced,

"You are coming with me to the ceremony today."

"I have no desire to go anywhere," Spock replied, evenly, glancing up from his PADD.

"You have remained up here for nearly a week straight. It is unhealthy and I will stand for it no longer. This is an important event and you are coming with me, and there will be no compromises," Sarek replied, as close to sounding irritated as was possible, "Put on your dress robe. We are leaving in half an hour. Now, Spock." He then left, leaving Spock feeling like a rebellious teenager all over again, resentment and irritation and exasperation bubbling in his chest. But he complied, knowing to resist would be both illogical and useless, and he clothed himself in his black dress robe.

He looked at himself in the mirror. His hair had grown out somewhat since he had last had it cut, quite some time ago now, and he had a fairly noticeable amount of stubble on his cheeks and chin, but he was presentable, if a little scruffy. At this point, though, he could not bring himself to care about his appearance. He went and had a small meal, and then Sarek declared they were leaving and they got into the hovercar and departed from the house.

* * *

The stiff sleeves of his dress uniform were irritating and his dress shoes felt too tight, but otherwise Jim was fine in the morning. At six o'clock in the morning ship's time, the command crew gathered in the transporter room, decked out in their dress uniforms. Uhura was chatting with Chekov and Sulu, and McCoy was complaining about something or other to Scotty when Jim strode in, grinning at the officers as they rolled their eyes at his typical tardiness.

"Everyone ready?" he asked cheerfully.

"We've been waiting on you, Sleeping Beauty," McCoy said wryly.

"Good!" Jim replied, smiling broadly as the room chuckled, "Let's go."

They all stepped onto the transporter pad, which had barely enough room for the six of them, and then Jim nodded at Lieutenant Kyle at the controls and said confidently,

"Energize."

"Good luck," the blond man said as he activated the transporter and they beamed down to the planet.

The first thing Jim realized about New Vulcan was that is was, indeed, "hot as shit", and nearly as humid. Almost immediately after they arrived he groaned and tugged at his stiff, high collar, already feeling sweat blossoming on his forehead.

"Is not fair you are in dress and ve must vear jackets and trousers," Chekov complained to Uhura, who was already fanning herself and replied,

"Oh, shut up, Pavel."

"Captain Kirk," came a familiar voice, and Jim turned to see Ambassador Selek standing placidly behind him, and he grinned.

"Ambassador!" he said warmly, giving a slight bow of his head in greeting – he had spent most of the previous day telling himself not to start shaking hands with anyone lest he embarrass himself.

"Come," the ambassador said with equal friendliness, "I will show you to your seats."

To their dismay the ceremony was outside, in the courtyard of some fancy political office that had apparently been one of the first buildings erected on New Vulcan soil. Selek seated them in the second row, facing a stone podium, with Jim on the end.

"So you can stand easier to give your speech," Selek explained, "You are aware of how this will proceed?"

"Yeah, pretty much," Jim laughed, "Some historian goes before me, then a High Council member will announce me and I'll go up and give my speech. Simple as that."

"Indeed," Selek replied in amusement, "Here, I shall show you where refreshments will be served – I am certain you will be grateful to know there will be plenty of water available for you and your crew." Selek led him a bit off to the side where tables were set up with cups of water next to large glass vases, also full of the clear liquid, and some kind of Vulcan snack food that Jim had never seen before and that looked decidedly unappetizing.

Suddenly he was aware of the older Vulcan leaning towards him and for a moment he was bewildered until the ambassador said in a near-whisper into his ear,

"Spock is here."

Jim's heart fluttered and suddenly he felt unbearably anxious. "Where?" he asked quickly, attempting to look around inconspicuously.

"I do not know where he is now," Selek replied, his gaze remaining steadily on the glass urns fill with water atop the tables, "But he arrived here with his father shortly before you did."

Jim nodded, feeling himself barely able to breathe, much less talk.

"There will be a reception immediately after the ceremony," Selek continued calmly, "Approach him then. Be calm, my friend."

"Okay," Jim replied, forcing himself to take a few deep breaths, "Okay." He took another moment to steady himself as Selek took a step backwards, away from him. "Well, I, uh... I better get back to my crew," he said with a nervous laugh, and Selek lowered his head.

"I look forward to hearing your speech," he replied simply, and then Jim hurried away.

The last thing he needed was to be a nervous wreck before delivering his speech. As he sat down next to McCoy he said,

"I'm feeling kinda jittery – you got anything?"

"I knew this was gonna happen," McCoy grumbled, pulling out his med pack, "You're lucky I thought to bring some relaxants for you, dumbass. Pull down your collar." As he leaned over and pressed the hypo against his skin, Jim whispered,

"Spock's here."

McCoy raised an eyebrow as the hypo hissed into Jim's skin.

"The ambassador mentioned it," Jim continued, hoping that whatever McCoy had given him would kick in quickly.

"Stay away from him," McCoy snapped, scowling with a flash of real and honest anger in his eyes, "That's all I've got to say, Jim. Stay away from him if you know what's best for you."

"Stay avay from who?" Chekov asked curiously from the other side of McCoy.

"Grown-up conversation," McCoy replied to the youngest crew member, who frowned and protested,

"I am eighteen, legal adult!"

Jim tuned them out, looking away, up to the stone podium where several ridiculously old Vulcan men were sitting, probably the High Council. He studied each of them in turn, forcing himself not to think of... _it_, that he could worry about _it_ after his speech, and after a few minutes the meds seemed to be working and his anxiety ebbed away.

After another few minutes the ceremony began with a speech from one of the wrinkliest men Jim had ever seen and he had to stifle his laughter as he guessed his age, probably nearing three hundred from the looks of it, which would have been old as hell even for a Vulcan. Then a Vulcan orchestra played some music Jim thought was horrifically boring and was barely able to sit through without driving McCoy off the deep end with his fidgeting and mumbling.

Then another speech was made and Jim was fairly certain he was next, and a hint of nervousness returned so he checked his breast pocket a couple times to ensure the tiny pocket-PADD with his speech on it was still there.

Sure enough, the next High Council member to speak said in the same dry monotone,

"We have the honor today of being gifted with the presence of the USS _Enterprise_'s own command crew, who were integral in the battle against Nero and the Narada. Because of their efforts, the remainder of the Federation was spared our fate, and for this we express our gratitude. _Enterprise_ crew, please stand so that we may acknowledge you."

The six of them stood with faint smiles as the crowd applauded lightly. When the noise subsided and they settled back into their seats, the same Councilman continued,

"At this time Captain James Tiberius Kirk will deliver a speech."

At that Jim stood, the rest of the crew murmuring in encouragement, and he stepped up onto the podium, unconsciously smiling his most charismatic smile as he cleared his throat and began,

"First I'd like to thank the High Council for inviting us to be apart of this ceremony. It truly is our honor, thank you." He glanced behind him at the High Council, who simply bowed their heads in acknowledgment.

And then Jim launched himself into his speech, which consisted mainly of him expressing the collective regret of himself, his ship, and the Federation over the tragedy that had befallen the Vulcan race, but also his hope of a future for New Vulcan and the Federation that would be bright and prosperous. The crowd listened quietly as he spoke in the most impassioned tone he could manage, and every time he glanced at the crew they smiled encouragingly at him, keeping his nervousness at bay and preventing him from searching the crowd in spite of himself.

"So in conclusion," Jim said with a deep breath – it was almost over, "I'd like to recognize the officers with me today for their exemplary efforts – without them none of this would have been possible. So, thank you, to Chief Communications Officer Nyota Uhura, Chief Navigator Pavel Chekov, Chief Helmsman Hikaru Sulu, Chief Medical Officer Leonard McCoy, and Chief Engineer Montgomery Scott." He cleared his throat, feeling anxious once more. "In addition to these fine men and women there is another individual who deserves recognition but is unfortunately not with us here today. I – I'd like to thank – First Officer Spock for his integral role in the – capture and neutralization of the Narada." He steadied himself before continuing. "Again, thank you for allowing us to be here today. Live long and prosper."

And with that he stepped down, a tight smile on his lips as the crowd applauded again and he sat back down next to McCoy, who patted him on the back and murmured,

"You did good, kid."

Uhura leaned over to see him from the other end of the row, grinning and gesturing with a thumbs-up at him. He forced himself to grin back and mouthed the words "thank you", for the High Council had begun to speak again.

The ceremony went on for a little while longer, then the reception started and everyone stood up and began milling about. Jim took a deep breath before entering the crowd, McCoy at his side.

He had to find Spock.

* * *

**A/N:** I can already tell people are going to be angry with me for ending the chapter here, l-lol. But don't worry! The next chapter (and consequently the reunion I know you all have been asking about) will be up on Friday. Thanks for reading!


	19. You and Me

**A/N:** Hey, everyone! Thanks to all the lovely readers who reviewed! :]

This chapter's title comes from the song "_You and Me_" by Lifehouse. It's a wonderful love song that's played at a lot of weddings, so I guess that's pretty self-explanatory. x]

We're almost there, guys - one chapter left! Oh man it makes me feel a little sad :S

As always, comments and critiques are welcome. Please enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Nineteen: You and Me

"Why did you bring me here?" Spock demanded as he and Sarek stood at the end of the ceremony. Sarek raised an eyebrow.

"I was unaware he would be here," he replied mildly. Spock did not believe him but he held his tongue.

"I do not wish to remain here any longer," he said instead.

"I must stay, so you must as well," Sarek replied, taking on a hint of sharpness, "I grow weary of your childish behavior, Spock, and it will cease now. I am still your father no matter how old you may be, and it would be wise to remember that lest I be forced to embarrass the both of us in public by giving you a harsher reprimand."

Spock felt his face flush in an unpleasant combination of rage and shock and embarrassment and without another word he strode off, away from the milling crowd, where he hoped he would remain unnoticed.

* * *

Jim had been scanning the crowd for a good ten minutes now, and to no avail. He conversed briefly with a few dignitaries – Vulcans were not ones for small talk and so the conversations were very, very brief – McCoy keeping up with him like a mother hen. Jim was certain the doctor noticed and understood his constant searching gazes but so far had said nothing, thankfully.

It was after they had exchanged a few words with a soft-spoken, middle-aged High Council member that Jim caught a glimpse not of Spock but of Sarek (he was desperate enough at that point that it was almost as good). Hoping against hope Sarek would lead him where he needed t go, he watched the gray-haired Vulcan navigate through the crowd, his eyes locked onto him with the intensity of a tractor beam.

And whatever deities there were watching over him appeared to be merciful today, for Sarek approached a man standing somewhat apart from the crowd on the opposite side of the courtyard and began speaking with him casually.

His hair was a little longer, a little messier, and the sprinkling of stubble across his face threw Jim off for a moment – but the man standing next to Sarek was undoubtedly and unmistakeably Spock.

"Don't do it, Jim," McCoy hissed, having followed the younger man's gaze. He pulled Jim by the arm a step closer to him. "For the love of god don't do it!"

"I have to," Jim replied breathlessly, unable to look away from the distant, familiar figure, "You don't understand, Bones, I have to do this. Don't worry." And in spite of his sudden nervousness that made him feel even more uncomfortably warm in the heat, more uncomfortably inflexible in his stiff dress uniform, he tore his gaze away from a brief moment and grinned at the doctor with every ounce of confidence he could muster. They stared at each other for a short moment, McCoy's expression pained and angry and desperate, then finally the doctor released Jim with a sigh.

"I can't stop you," he said bitterly, and he turned around and walked away.

Jim glanced back – Spock was still there, as was his father.

It was now or never.

He stepped forward into the crowd, navigating through the multitude of Vulcans in a route that would allow him to approach Spock from the side rather than from the front, mostly because he didn't want the half-Vulcan to catch sight of him too early and escape.

He glanced about casually as he walked at an unhurried pace, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. Vulcans were known to steer clear of the personal affairs of others but nevertheless he was mortified at the thought of someone realizing what was going on or overhearing what was sure to be an uncomfortable conversation.

And then finally he was only maybe ten feet away and Sarek spotted him, surprise skittering across his face, and then Spock followed his gaze as Jim closed the distance between them.

"Hello, Ambassador Sarek," Jim said with a faint grin (although he wasn't sure if Sarek was still an ambassador, but it was too late for that now, he supposed). Then he turned his attention to Spock, whose face had drained of all color, and he said, "Hello, Spock."

The half-Vulcan's breath hitched as he replied in a near-whisper, "Captain."

Jim's heart was pounding a frantic beat against his chest but he met Spock's uneasy gaze with a peculiar and unexpected calmness (not that he was complaining).

"You know, I was wondering if I could talk to you for a minute," he continued, a cheerfulness in his tone that surprised even himself. He glanced at Sarek, who was looking between his son and the captain alternately, expressionlessly, and he added, "Preferably alone."

Spock finally tore his gaze away from Jim to look sharply at his father and he said in rushed Vulcan,

"Do not go. I cannot do this." Jim looked uncomprehendingly between them as Sarek replied slowly in their native tongue,

"You must resolve this, son. It will kill you if you do not." He then turned his attention to Jim and continued in Standard, "I will take my leave, then. Live long and prosper, Captain Kirk." And with that, he spun on his heel and strode away.

"Let's head out a little," Jim said slowly, watching Sarek's path, and then he turned and walked towards the empty desert, looking back continuously to ensure Spock was following him.

When he figured they were far enough away to remain unbothered he stopped, but Spock took several steps beyond him so that his back was facing Jim. Panic threatened to overtake him – staring at the unmarred, red horizon, he held himself together as best as he could until finally Jim's voice came softly from behind him,

"Spock."

"Whatever you have to say to me cannot possibly make me feel any more miserable than I already am," Spock said quickly, the words bursting from his mouth before he could think about them, "So say what you will and leave me." There was a brief pause and Spock could only hear the sound of his heart hammering in his abdomen and the blood pulsing in his ears, and then finally Jim said,

"Look at me."

Slowly Spock turned to face him, and Jim's heart wrenched at the unbearably pained expression on the other man's face. They stared at each other searchingly for what felt like an eternity, until finally Jim said desperately,

"Come back to the _Enterprise_, Spock."

Rage bubbled up in the Vulcan at the words and he nearly growled, "Whatever kind of joke you are attempting to make is in no way humorous."

"It's not a joke," Jim replied just as forcefully in spite of the fear that Spock's sudden outburst sent coursing through him, "I'm serious, Spock, come back. Please. The crew needs you... _I_ need you, Spock! It's not the same without you and it never will be, and I can't – I can't go on living without you Spock, I can't." Slowly Spock met his desperate, electric blue eyes and he knew the young captain was telling the truth. Their gazes remained locked on each other for a long moment that Spock did not measure, and then he looked away, shame flooding his senses, and murmured slowly,

"All this time I have spent hating myself, because – because I was certain that _you_ hated _me_..."

"No," Jim replied fervently, brows furrowing as his heart ached, "I never hated you, I could never hate you. I only – I only hurt because I knew you were hurting too."

Slowly he reached out and took Spock's hand and, without really knowing how he did it, projected across every ounce of love, of longing, of acceptance that he could find within him and Spock closed his eyes against the onslaught of emotions.

"I cannot express the depth of my sorrow, my guilt," he finally uttered, shaking his head as his voice became choked with tears that threatened to spill from his eyes, "I have even been... been planning my suicide, my guilt was so unbearable – " Jim clutched harder at his wrist at the confession, sorrow flooding through their link, but Spock continued in a desperate rush, "Please, please, forgive me for the atrocity I have committed against you – Jim, forgive me, I beg you...!"

"I already did," Jim whispered, cutting him off, "You don't have to suffer anymore. Oh, Spock, I forgave you a long time ago."

And slowly, slowly, he leaned in and placed the gentlest, most chaste of kisses on Spock's trembling lips. For a moment they both remained perfectly still against each other, all the hurt and despair and confusion and longing and everything else that had accumulated in their time apart pouring out from the perfect pressure of their joined mouths, then slowly Jim pulled away, eyes closed and forehead resting against Spock's, and he whispered,

"Please, please come home."

He had not meant to say "home" – but now that he had, he found it to be the most perfect word he could have used.

"I will," Spock whispered in reply, "I will."

* * *

**A/N:** Thanks for reading! The final chapter will be posted on Sunday.


	20. This is Home

**A/N:** So. This is it, everyone. The** final** chapter!

Just wanted to mention I started on another (fairly small) Trek fic that I posted yesterday, if you want to check it out... ^^; It's called Quarantine and can be found on my profile page.

I just want to start off by saying that this has been an amazing run. This was my first Trek fic ever and, to be honest, the first fanfiction I've written in a very long time, probably since I was in my weaboo stage in middle school (and I just graduated high school... so yeah, a long time, hahaha). I wasn't expecting at all the overwhelming response I received and I have to say I am so, so grateful for the wonderful readers and reviewers I've had over the course of these twenty chapters. This story is very special to me - I wrote it to be a story of forgiveness, redemption, and ultimately hope, because when I started writing it hope wasn't something I had a lot of. But nobody's beyond hope, nobody's beyond being saved, and if this story has touched you in any way then I've done my job as a writer and I'm glad. So again, to everyone reading -** thank you so much for making this an absolutely wonderful experience! **To my** readers**: Thank you for taking time out of your life to keep up with my little project here. To my** reviewers**: Thank you so much for all your feedback, your kind words, your awesome and often amusing insights. Whenever I'm having a hard time getting the words down I just go back and look at all the wonderful reviews I've received, and it fills my heart with joy and gives me the little kick in the rear I need to get writing again. :]

For those of you asking - **yes, there is going to be a sequel!** ^^ (That's why there are still several loose ends at the ending here, l-lol) I started writing it the other day. I can't guarantee how long it will be before it's online - probably at least a month if not more because school is starting for me soon - but I assure you that there will be one! So please be patient and bear with me. ^^; I'm not sure if I'll wait until the whole thing is finished (it's a longer wait but then updates are steady and constant, like it has been for this story) or just until I have a few chapters written and then post as I go (you guys get it faster but with longer stretches between updates). I'll go with whatever you guys prefer, so **if you have a preference please say so either in a review or a private message**! :]

(sorry for the long note. I wanted to get out everything I wanted to say without detracting from the ending part of the ending, so it's all going up here, hahaha)

And now - I know you are all going to harp on me for this chapter being so very short, but I kind of like my endings to be this way - short and sweet and poignant. This chapter's title comes from the song "_This is Home_" by the band Switchfoot.** Please enjoy, and thank you so much for reading _I Left the Ninety-Nine_!**

* * *

Chapter Twenty: This is Home

A week later a message from Starfleet arrived on Jim's PADD.

"_Commander Spock has been readmitted into Starfleet, with all previous titles and privileges restored. He will be beamed aboard the _Enterprise_ to resume duty from Starbase 18 tomorrow at 0800 hours_."

He smiled broadly and forwarded the message to the rest of the crew. Nakamura and Winters were probably going to be disappointed about being replaced, but he could not bring himself to care. Spock was coming home, and that was all that mattered.

* * *

The morning Spock was to beam aboard the_ Enterprise_, he woke in his hotel room on Starbase 18 and got ready much like how he did every morning. After his sonic shower he shaved away his stubble and smoothed his hair down, and spent some time looking at himself in the mirror. Very presentable.

He pulled out his blue Science uniform but rather than putting it on he stood staring at it for a long while, too. The silver science insignia, the faint pattern in the fabric - it was all so familiar, and something stirred in his heart, something that he decided must have been the Human experience of nostalgia. He did not try to stamp it down the way he normally would have - he could not see any harm in letting himself feel this small, warm emotion.

Spock pulled on his uniform, smoothed away any wrinkles, gathered up his few things that had not already been beamed aboard, turned the lights off, and left. He was going home.

* * *

They docked into Starbase 18 in the evening and Jim could barely sleep – not because of dread or anxiety but because of a happiness, an elation and excitement he could barely contain.

He took extra care in getting ready in the morning and, having informed the bridge that he would likely be an hour or so late for Alpha shift, he stepped into the transporter room at 0750 with a grin plastered of his face, which Lieutenant Kyle returned heartily.

"Quite a day, Captain," he chuckled in his faint British accent.

"It certainly is," Jim agreed, his heart swelling with joy.

A few moments later that familiar voice came through the transporter controls,

"Ready to beam up."

"Yes, sir," Lieutenant Kyle replied, "Energizing now."

Jim watched as the transporter hummed to life, as Spock materialized in a swirl of light and sound, and Jim smiled. Spock's hair was cut and his face clean-shaven, he was dressed in his Science blue, and he looked as if he had never once left the _Enterprise_. Spock nodded at Kyle, then stepped down from the transporter pad, his gaze remaining steadfastly on the captain's features, and he said,

"Greetings, Captain."

"Welcome back, Spock," Jim replied, his voice thick with happiness, "I figured I ought to take the time to give you a grand tour of the ship – what do you think?" Spock opened his mouth to reply that that would be unnecessary, but then thought better of it and instead answered,

"I would find that most agreeable, sir." Jim beamed at him and as they stepped side-by-side out of the transporter room, he asked,

"How was the trip?"

"Pleasant," Spock replied, his gaze steadily remaining on Jim's eyes, which peered back at him with equal intensity, "And how are things aboard the ship?"

"Now that you're here? Wonderful," Jim declared with the broadest of smiles, "Absolutely wonderful."


End file.
